Duty, Dragons And Dabo!
by Dr Megalomania
Summary: What would happen if Q meet someone with the same amount of power as him? The crew of Deep Space Nine, unwilling, find out...
1. When It's A Little Too Quiet

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//  
  
Part 1: When It's A Little Too Quiet . . .  
  
Odo sighed heavily, so much to do, so little time to do it in. He looked up out of the windows of his office doors and contemplated stretching, not your average stretch, but a full elastic band impression stretch. Despite wanting to he decided against it. He was a private man and did not like the idea of stretching like that in full public view, especially when the public included . . .  
  
Quark stormed in. Odo was gals he had refrained from stretching.  
  
"Someone has fixed my Dabo table!"  
  
"Really? Oh my! How terrible!" Odo replied dryly.  
  
"Yes!" Quark struck a pose that said 'what are you stupid or something?'  
  
"And they fixed it to do . . . What?"  
  
"To cheat at Dabo of course!"  
  
"How can you tell?" Odo was intrigued now.  
  
"How can I tell, how can I tell? I'll tell you, its fixed so the house loses!"  
  
"Isn't that supposed to happen?" Asked a new voice from the doorway. Odo permitted himself a small smile as Quark whipped his entire body around to face Major Kira.  
  
"No!" Quark caught himself, "Well . . . not all the time." Odo stood and led Quark to the door.  
  
"Quark, stop wasting my time."  
  
The little Ferengi bustled, "I demand to know what you are going to do." Odo pushed him out of his office. "I . . . am utterly . . . stunned, you call yourself a security officer? I'll . . . " His voice was cut off as the doors slid closed in front of him. Kira smiled and waved goodbye mockingly through the glass door as Quark gathered himself up and stormed across the promenade to his bar.  
  
Odo laughed, his unique monosyllabic "Ha!" He turned to the pretty Bajoran and felt the familiar fluttering of his . . . heart? No, he didn't have one, did he? Perhaps it was his stomach? Nada on that front too, . . . oh well, he'd figure it out later.  
  
"What can I do for you Major?"  
  
Kira instantly dropped the playful manner and became business like. While she launched into her report, Odo sighed, sat and listened carefully.as well as admiring that beautiful Bajoran nose.  
  
  
  
Stars were so beautiful. He turned and contemplated the people milling in the area. People were not so beautiful, but varied so much more than stars . . . then again stars were so much more graceful, as he watched a Bolian bump into a Bajoran woman, her arms loaded with shopping that went sprawling all over the promenade beneath him.  
  
"What exactly are you doing?" a familiar voice said behind him. Jake Sisko jumped to see his good friend Nog, standing there in full star fleet garb.  
  
"Nog?!" he exclaimed.  
  
Nog drew himself up to his full height, (which was still somewhat shorter than Jake) "you were maybe expecting someone else?"  
  
Jake made to cuff his ear but Nog deftly ducked out of the way. "Not someone else; just thought you'd be too busy to see me."  
  
Nog grinned, a full Ferengi grin complete with pointed teeth. "Hey, us Starfleet Personnel have gotta keep tabs on all you unrulely civilians somehow . . . So what are you doing?"  
  
"Well, whilst you 'Starfleet Personnel' are busy keeping tabs, us civilians have to stay busy some other way. I was just looking and contemplating on the stars out there, and people down there. Us creative types have to keep a look out for inspiration." He gestured down to the promenade. It was then that they watched Odo shove a very blustered Quark out of his office. As per usual Quark made a big show of patting himself off and yelled something which Jake and Nog only caught the end of.  
  
". . . Call yourself a security officer . . . I'll sue . . . you'll . . . I'll . . ." Nog turned and grimaced as his uncle stomped of in frustration to his bar.  
  
Jake laughed and patted him on the back. "Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing big."  
  
"Jake . . . " Nog adapted his 'my uncle/father is so stupid! Why me?', exasperated tone of voice. "My uncle's problem could be as small as a proton. . . yet he is still capable of making it into a super nova. . . AND he makes a spectacle of himself!" Nog covered his eyes in an attempt to block out his uncle's behaviour.  
  
"Nog, it's Ok." Jake had long gotten into the habit of reassuring Nog over his family's mistakes. "The only person he's showing up . . . is. . . " Jake trailed off as he looked through the view port.  
  
Oblivious to Jake's movement towards the view port Nog continued the dried up sentence. "Who? Himself, me, the entire Ferengi race. It's reputation. . . who?. . . Jake? Jake?" Nog stormed off towards his friend. "Jake, my life is getting worse by the minute, my uncle just embarrassed himself in front of the whole promenade and all you can do is gawp out of the window!"  
  
Jake grabbed Nog's shoulders and spun him round so he was forced to look out of the window.  
  
"What am I looking at? The stars are nice and all, really they are, but this. . . isn't. . .the. . . " Nog trailed off as his mind tried to register what he was seeing. There was what could only be described as . . . a . . . thing. With scales. And claws. And Wings. It was outside looking in at them.  
  
It's face contorted, Jake stammered, "I think . . . It's grinning at us?"  
  
The thing spread its scaled wings, moved back, and rammed itself into the view port. The two friends jumped a good meter back as the thing slid downwards, its grin replaced in favour of a squashed cheek.  
  
Having recovered the thing moved back from the view port and with one clawed limb, knocked on the glass while pretending to choke.  
  
I think . . . it wants to get in." said Jake slowly as both he and Nog recovered from their shock. Nog panicked, his mind was having trouble reconciling the image before him. "Wha . . . What are we supposed to do?"  
  
"Call Ops?" Jake ventured, both were unable to take their eyes off the apparition.  
  
Nog slapped the right side of his chest, completely missing his commbadge, he tried again, this time his left shoulder, again, stomach, forehead, everywhere except the left hemisphere that was his chest. The creature ceased its little show and proceeded slowly to bang its forehead against the glass.  
  
Jake stumbled backwards, grabbed Nog, (who was still trying to locate his elusive commbadge) and motioned to the thing "wait there, wait there!"  
  
Dragging Nog by the arm, Jake made a mad dash down promenade's top level, down the spiralled stairs, through Quarks, swiftly ducking the loaded trays of the waitresses. Ignored Quarks yell of "Hey! What the . . . ?". Racing past Odo's office. The doors of which opened to reveal Constable Odo and Major Kira.  
  
"Where do you think there're going?" Kira asked Odo.  
  
"I don't know . . . but I'm pretty sure it's no good." Odo broke into a jog after the young writer and the young ensign. "Jake . . .Nog . . . Stop running!" They weren't listening; they stopped at a turbo lift. Odo and Kira came to a halt as Jake and Nog waited for the lift. "Now . . .Care to explain why you two were running around like a pair of headless Rigalian Sigher Chickens?" Odo struck his most intimidating pose.  
  
Nog was still looking for his com badge, Jake tried to put what he saw into words. Both were breathless from their insane sprint.  
  
"Must . . . Ops . . ." Nog managed.  
  
"Fast, now, thing, help, Um." Jake pointed towards the viewpoint. To Odo and Kira, they might as well have been speaking gibberish. The lift arrived, Jake and Nog leapt into the car as if their lives depended on it. Kira and Odo joined the duo, who had ordered the computer to take them to ops.  
  
"Now will you please calm down and tell us . . ." Kira began. The lift stopped at deck two to admit Dr Bashir and Chief O'Brien.  
  
Before they could say or do anything, both Nog and Jake yanked the engineer and the doctor into the lift. "No time to explain . . . Ops or tough Cheese." Jake exclaimed breathlessly.  
  
"Well, Um, We're on our way to ops." Bashir recovered "But why . . ."  
  
"No time," Nog repeated, he looked up. "Computer, Ops now!!!!!!!"  
  
  
  
Meanwhile in Ops . . .  
  
Jadzia looked up from her console and observed the room around her. It was quiet, it was as if the founders had decided to take a break. 'Good' she thought. She found herself staring at her new husband. Complete with usual gruff expression, Worf moved around, checking everything and making notes on his pad.  
  
"Well, old man, anything to report?" Her old friend clapped and rubbed his hands together, he looked happy. 'He's just enjoying the quiet' she thought and smiled at him, even though the part of her that was still Curzon Dax cursed him for surprising her like that.  
  
"Aside from the deathly boredom that had descended, I'd say . . . " she adapted a serious tone, "RED ALERT!!! We're under attack!!".  
  
Sisko laughed heartily, "Arrgh, save us all"  
  
Worf looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Sir, we are not under attack . . ."  
  
"I'm just joking Worf." Jadzia wiped away at her eyes.  
  
"We are in a war situation, there is no time for joking."  
  
"Lighten up Mr. Worf . . . That's an order." Sisko smiled over at the gruff tactical officer.  
  
"Humm." Worf moved away.  
  
". . .For the last time . . .what's wrong with you two?" Kira said as the turbo lift arrived at ops. Jadzia looked up to see Jake, Nog, Kira, Odo, Bashir and O'Brien bundle out of the car. Nog and Jake looked like they were possessed as they leapt across the deck to the transporter panel.  
  
Captain Sisko recovered with trained ease from his shock. "Jake, Ensign, what are you doing? Get away from that panel!" Jake made some jumbled attempt to explain their insane behavior, while ensign Nog accesses the panel.  
  
Odo took his duty into hand and used his most daunting voice. "Ensign, you will cease your activities at once." Lieutenant Dax tried to stop them by cutting Nog off.  
  
"It's too late, what ever they are beaming aboard is in the buffer. We have to complete the transport."  
  
Sisko turned to his son. "You have a lot of explaining to do."  
  
Jake gulped visibly.  
  
All attention turned to the center of ops. The middle main console on which the computer had chosen to deposited the apparently large amount of matter Nog had beamed aboard. As the glittering golden cascade of transporter cleared, a large form could be made out. It appeared to have strong muscled back legs, a tail, a long neck and things on its back that resembled wings, it had for-arms with claws that looked capable of acting like hands. Jadzia murmured something about it not being humanoid, Kira, like the rest of ops couldn't take her eyes off the thing in front of her; she muttered a prayer in Bajoran. The transport complete, the creature leant back on its hind legs, wobbled slightly, regained its balance, looked around, spotted Jake and Nog (whose mouths hung open) and grinned.  
  
It opened its mouth to reveal several sharp teeth and a thin tongue, 'much like a Klingon Bach'mu'tach' Worf thought as he held back his sudden urge to pounce on the creature. He half expected it to breath the plasma fire that he'd seen in many creatures similar to this. What happened completely contradicted this thought. The creature cleared its throat and . . .  
  
//So, how's the weather in here . . .// 


	2. One Miniscule Error

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
  
  
Part 2: One miniscule error . . .  
  
. . . Silence. You could have heard a pin drop. You could even almost hear the various possible courses of action being flattened underneath a weight of suspense.  
  
//Um. . . excuse me? Is this the meeting place? Eh. . . . . ?//  
  
The apparition had spoken, and as its sentence petered out, captain Benjamin Sisko stepped in. With the Starfleet command uniform and dark skin in sharp contrast, he struck an imposing figure - and one not to be ignored. Was this some sort of a joke? This creature, although no apparent threat to his station, had violated several laws of space-time in the space of an instant. He had to determine its intentions as quickly as possible.  
  
"I am captain Benjamin Sisko of the federation space station, Deep Space Nine. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"  
  
//:- Ahaha...Right. Where did you say I was?//  
  
"Space station Deep Space Nine in the alpha quadrant. You'll forgive me for the reaction to your entrance-"  
  
Several of the crew had recovered with creditable speed to train their phasers on the interloper. All three clawed, winged, scaled metres of it.  
  
"-But we happen to be in the middle of a war, and I would appreciate it if you could tell us why you're here!"  
  
// Oh man, oh terrific, one miniscule error in the spatial-temporal continuum and I end up in another universe! Man, I'm sorry. This was an accident. . .//  
  
"Then maybe you could explain how this 'accident' occurred?"  
  
Behind the quadruped intruder, someone else had entered the conversation. The creature arched its neck round like a piece of nervous elastic, and appraised the speaker. His face was different from that of his fellows - less well defined, and the voice was rougher - right now with an edge to it.  
  
// Uh, yeah, um . . . have you ever heard of multispatial transversion?//  
  
A blank. It tried again:  
  
// Transdimensional relocation?//  
  
Another yellow-collared officer assumed an intrigued expression, leaning over slightly. "Transdimensional relocation? I've heard of some theories, but. . . how does it work?"  
  
The newcomer shifted its attention, and fidgeted uncomfortably.  
  
// Well. . . its kind of hard to explain. . . like cutting across universes in a different timescale - so you can 'snap back' to the relative location on your own. . . sometime in the future. It lets you travel anywhere almost instantly . . .//  
  
Sisko cut off what would probably have degraded into a theoretical debate about transporters and returned to the matter in hand.  
  
"You come from another universe?"  
  
//Yes, that's right. Well, um, sort of. I'm not meant to be here, actually. . .//  
  
"So we gathered," dryly. "Where are you meant to be, exactly?"  
  
About to answer the one with the odd face, the being which had appeared so precipitously in the middle of Ops pitched forward.  
  
// Whoa! Weird gravity - there's no side-pull!//  
  
Sisko glanced to one side, but O'Brien shrugged: he didn't know what the creature was talking about. Neither did anyone else. However, if its claim - that this was an accident - was true, and it posed no threat to the station, he could ask the question everybody was dying to venture.  
  
"Then what are you?"  
  
From its vantage point in the sunken middle of the room, amidst the bright consoles and other schematics laid out, it paused.  
  
// Uh, well, my uh. . . whatdyacallit. . . species, is. . . well, you don't exactly have an analogy for it. . .//  
  
It stopped fidgeting, a more intense stillness than even when it had first materialized, that was followed by a projected image - a projected mental image - into the minds of everybody in the room. Sisko could taste-touch- smell-hear-see what this entity's 'race' meant. . . but had no hope of addressing their visitor by it.  
  
Jadzia Dax - the station's science officer, was standing beside him and made her suggestion:  
  
"How about we call her a Dragon."  
  
On a quiet aside, he quizzed her: "'Her?' A 'Dragon'?"  
  
"Yes - a creature from ancient earth mythology. . . she looks like some of the old pictures."  
  
"She?"  
  
Dax made no comment except a grin, further lightening the mood, by now receding from its initial fear and tension. Sisko had not been lying about the war - and they had been expecting a surprise attack when this mysterious 'Dragon' had appeared out of thin air, and another universe. He could already see discreet scans being made to verify the Dragon's story.  
  
"The question is, what are we going to do about her?"  
  
  
  
Boredom, he looked around, he thought he spotted something of vague interest but a second look proved it wasn't.  
  
'Bored, bored, bored!!' he thought to himself in disgust. He thought about playing with his son, but realized he would be spending the day with the ol' ball and chain. He thought about visiting a few friends. . . his mind took a liking to this idea. . . "Hmm, who shall I grace with my presence?"  
  
Jean Luc? No... he couldn't think of anything new to play with the ol' boy. . . "Hmm. . . think. . . think, think. . ." Sweet Kathy? No. . . old chuckles and the rest of her crew would bundle around her and start snarling like a bunch of Toskian dogs, all except Mr. Twoblock who would logify him to death and that 'hollow' graphic doctor, he shuddered. Thank goodness that one had an off-switch!  
  
"Whom haven't I visited in ages. . ." he stroked his chin. Which gave him an idea. "Of course!"  
  
He clicked his fingers, and in an instant, was at his destination, peering into main ops.  
  
He chuckled. "Strange predicament we're in here, aren't we?" but soon lost his smile as he realized this was a creature he'd never encountered before.  
  
"Hmm. . . Transdimensional relocation? I've never heard that one before. . ." His curiosity had been piqued  
  
While the puny humans milled about, trying to figure out what to do about a three meter long reptile, which was sitting in the middle of the main operations, Spots made some comment about it being a Dragon. . . 'Preposterous!' he though to himself but he was intrigued.  
  
The person, whom he planned on visiting, the original subject of his attention, uttered a typical human question.  
  
He leaned in closer, chuckling darkly. "Indeed!"  
  
He clicked his fingers again. 


	3. What Do You Do With

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
  
  
Part 3: What do you do with. . .  
  
That question was answered shortly afterwards.  
  
It had been an eventful day, to say the least. Back in sickbay, Bashir was venting his natural enthusiasm on this new, fascinating victim. However, for once the patient surpassed his own investigation with some of its own.  
  
// Agh! What the- man, what is that thing? Cool, here, what does this do. . .?//  
  
Kira suspected the 'Dragon' had been subjected to every type of scan and test ever invented, and possibly a few which hadn't - with constable Odo in attendance, just in case this was some elaborate changeling scheme for infiltrating Deep Space Nine. It had been proven before that he had an uncanny awareness, which bordered on the prescience, for any of his own kind in the vicinity.  
  
Kira turned her attention back to the Dragon. It . . . She frowned as she corrected herself.SHE was running around sickbay in a sort of stummble- scuttel-flying fashion picking up and discarding various pieces of medical equipment.  
  
Doctor Bashir frantically tried to save the medical equipment. Mentally she was laughing; physically she kept a straight face. It wouldn't do for the first officer to laugh at the antics of an alien who had the probable power to destroy them.  
  
"Please . . . Oh careful. . . Um. . . Ma'am. . . Um. . . Miss. . .Please could you. . . " Bashir ran around catching the randomly scattered equipment. As if sensing her behaviour was causing trouble she stopped.  
  
//Where do you want me to put myself?//  
  
Bashir put his medical toys gently on the nearby table.  
  
"Over there please." Spreading her wings she fluttered up onto the bed. . . and landed rather clumsily. //Oomph. . . sorry I keep forgetting you only have one direction of gravity.// She closed her eyes slightly and was silent. A confused quiet descended on the sick bay. Bashir tentatively moved towards the now torpid creature, slowly lifting a hand onto her shoulder. He must have shocked her because her eyes shot open; a small yelp of surprise was followed by a lick of flame, which scorched the usually pristine wall.  
  
//Sorry, Sorry. . . You know you really shouldn't jump up behind me like that.//Her voice, although amused, was laced with seriousness.  
  
"I'm. . . Sorry. . . I. . ." The good doctor was stunned, gaping at the scorched mark on the wall. However his mind was already light-years ahead, considering all the scientific possibilities.  
  
//Doctor. . . Doctor?//The Dragon wobbled uncertainly to her hind legs, waving one of her claws in front of the doctor's face. //Woo . . .Hello?. . . // The doctor lifted a finger, clearly still deep in thought. Eh started to waggle it back and forth. The Dragon tried to bring the Dragon back to reality. //Yo, sonny Jim. . .Come back to us. Woo . . . //She tossed a glance over to Kira and Odo but they had left quietly, she shrugged and turned back to the doctor. //Hello . . . Hello? . . . Flightless, little bipedal man. . . or woman. . . or whatever you are.// She crossed her arms in an impatient gesture. The doctor paced back to her side still waggling his finger. He opened his mouth to say something but didn't make a sound. He just stood there still with his finger pointed at her. She gazed at the finger, smirked, and set it alight with a purple flame. By the time he returned to reality she had a nice healthy flame going. He turned to face her full on; he noted she looked rather amused. Bashir raised an inquisitive eyebrow and she used a clawed finger to point at his human equivalent. He looked at it.  
  
"Ya!" Then it really hit him, "Ya! I mean AGHHH!!"  
  
Just then, Odo walked back in and was greeted by the sight of Dr Bashir rushing around his sick bay and the Dragon with her head thrown back producing something akin to laughter.  
  
"Doctor?" Odo inquired. Bashir stopped and turned to reveal his purple candle like finger.  
  
"Yaaaaa!"  
  
"All right! Stand still!"  
  
The irascible constable drove forward in the tradition of rugby-players throughout the universe when this failed to apply, stuck his seemingly burning arm under the nearest tap, and managed to wrestle the panicked doctor to a standstill.  
  
Then he turned and glared at the Dragon, a picture of innocence had it not been for the slight patina of smoke emerging from her nasal cavities.  
  
"What have you got to say for yourself?"  
  
// It was an accident, I swear! Sort of//.  
  
He was not pleased at being disturbed - although it was not entirely unexpected, which was why he had stationed himself just outside in the first place.  
  
Bashir, nursing his arm - which on closer inspection did not appear to be burned - was staring in amazement at the Dragon.  
  
"How in the world did you do that?"  
  
"More importantly, why, and don't do it again."  
  
//I won't.// The Dragon unsuccessfully tried to look meek // I made sure he wasn't hurt, though.// Her victim sent him a blistering look, but one tempered with fascination. In fact, he was going to send off some of the diagnostic readings straight away for analysis in the rest of Starfleet, as well as here - he wanted some confirmation of his results. As for the ability to create 'cold' flame biologically, he was actually going to ask for another demonstration in controlled conditions when Odo forestalled him.  
  
"I think you'd better come with me."  
  
://Oh man, but this is so. . .// catching his eye. // Ehem. . . okey- dokey//  
  
They had just to wait until Bashir finished downloading the information down his secured channel.  
  
And things might have gone smoothly, if the Dragon hadn't whipped round to take a look at some interesting detail, quite forgetting the laws of conservation of momentum which swung her tail round, knocked the unwitting shapeshifter halfway across the room, where he banged into a table.  
  
The clutter on top slid off and sent a low-energy phasic beam from one of the instruments, which had landed on the trigger button.  
  
Which was aimed squarely at the medical officer, bent over a console in intense rapport with his findings, most of them being transmitted at that very moment back to-  
  
Which was when the beam hit his sleeve, it began to smoulder, and then caught fire for real.  
  
About to dismiss the Dragon and Odo - watching now with an expression of mild disbelief - he turned, resting on hands placed either side of the control panel, drew breath-- smelled smoke and began to try for warp nine in an enclosed area again.  
  
Unfortunately, his flailings managed to strike one of the buttons, which broadcast the Dragon's contribution to medical science on wide-band.  
  
This was to have far-reaching consequences - and left an increasingly exasperated Odo to deal with the problem before he could calm the hysterical Bashir.  
  
// Wait, wait, I can help, hang on!//  
  
A blast of sub-zero temperature totally missed its target, almost struck the terminal whose controls Odo was trying to reset, and ricocheted off various delicate instrumentation instead of putting out the flames as intended. Totally off balance with this sudden and fruitless manoeuvre, especially in such unwieldy gravity, the scaly avian perpetrator slipped, sprawled, which had Bashir follow suit as he tripped over her prone tail.  
  
After that the shapeshifter joined them to try and smother the flames, finally succeed, and then get up again to salvage some dignity.  
  
Which he was doing when their audience in the doorway made itself known as, seeing the situation was under control, she began to crack up with laughter.  
  
Of course he recognised the voice straight away, and sighed inwardly.  
  
Oh please no, don't let it be-  
  
-Kira.  
  
  
  
Right now they were all with the exception of the Dragon, discussing the new addition to their number in Sisko's office.  
  
". . . but think of what it could teach us! Transdimensional relocation. . . even the theories are vague concepts at best. Look, all I'm saying is maybe we can exchange some information. . ." O'Brien, of course. Personally, major Kira was going to keep this strange creature under observation until they were sure they would trust it - although the Dragon did seem to act innocuously enough, despite its fearsome appearance. That should be easy, because the Dragon seemed equally interested in them, especially Odo, and no wonder: there were similarities between the two species. Dr. Bashir was earnestly explaining his own theories to captain Sisko. "This 'Dragon', as you call it. . . its internal organs have adapted completely to our environment, from whatever alien conditions it was used to. Its barely possible to even imagine something like that - as O'Brien says, this could transform the face of science." He was probably thinking about all the medical implications: how to adjust the body to handle any physical conditions, thus saving lives.  
  
Sisko decided to inject a note of caution into the gathering:  
  
"All right people! We have a visitor here, apparently from another universe. We know nothing of its culture or lifestyle, what it can eat or its needs - so I suggest we find out about them before we inundate it with questions."  
  
They had stopped talking at that: it was an automatic reflex whenever he was speaking. It raised the tricky problem of which quarters would be suitable for a three-metre long reptile with an appetite un-catered for by any replicator - preferably ones minus any flammable furnishings considering how difficult a time Bashir was going to have erasing the scorch-marks from his laboratory.  
  
With a hint of malice, Kira grinned. "Well, I have an idea for where the 'Dragon' can stay."  
  
She put forward her solution, to the smiles of her audience.  
  
As Dax said:  
  
"He won't like that."  
  
"I should think that would be a bonus. . . besides, he can consider it 'help' for whatever's wrong with his Dabo tables."  
  
In the background, Nog cringed with embarrassment at Odo's sarcasm.  
  
Kira's grin broadened: "Well, that's settled then. I'll just go and warn him."  
  
In a satisfied about face she strode from the room, leaving the others to debate the other practicalities of the situation. There wasn't really a lot to say - at least, not without asking the Dragon first. They had yet to figure out its diet, or it's rather strange references to side-pull gravity - or indeed how they were able to understand it in the first place, save that there was some telepathic communication going on. Perhaps they could contact a Betazoid to decipher the strange mental 'speech.'  
  
Meanwhile they would have to go on and run the station, as they were becoming accustomed to - through whatever weird and wonderful events transpired.  
  
And one of them was just about to.  
  
They had decided to introduce Dragon to Quark and vice versa before they actually established her in the Ferengi's premises - spacious, minus the usual fabric-furnishings and carpet that had been ruined in sickbay. And of course, another benefit was the proximity of a more personalised replicator for meeting the needs of the bar's varied customers. Hopefully it could synthesise something edible for the Dragon. Sure enough, the incredulous bartender stormed back into Odo's security office for the second time in about as many hours, where both the Dragon and the shapeshifter were waiting.  
  
"Ah, Quark, what a pleasant surprise."  
  
With no preamble, he launched into an objection:  
  
"This is a ridiculous idea! I'm running a twenty-four hour business, you can't expect me to accommodate some sort of-"  
  
// Whoa, that's him?//  
  
Cut off in mid-tirade by the unexpected semi-telepathic voice, and noticing the office's other occupant for the first time, the usually irrepressible Quark stared. Wondering if Kira had actually informed him exactly what kind of new lodger he would be receiving, Odo let his amusement show.  
  
"Meet your new 'guest'."  
  
He indicated their Dragon. Dax had pointed out that having to call her 'the Dragon' all the time seemed a little. . . impersonal. He couldn't see anything wrong with it, but then he wasn't renowned for his social skills and the Dragon had taken a name readily enough. A little too readily.  
  
//Hi there, my name's Mumarothger-'sithylantyne. What's yours?//  
  
The stare became more pronounced.  
  
Odo rolled his eyes. "You may want to abbreviate it." Then, as Quark did not seem inclined to reply, he carried on the other side of the conversation.  
  
"His name is Quark, and feel free to abbreviate him if he causes you any trouble."  
  
Normally this would be about time for a shrill protest from the Ferengi, but for some reason, the presence of a death-threat to be carried out by an enormous fire-breathing lizard with wings and very sharp talons on its fore- and hind feet had subdued him.  
  
It was time to exercise a little expediency.  
  
"W-well, uh. . . Mumama-oh-thet-grr - 'slthery-time. . . its nice to, eheh, meet you. Actually, you may want to find some more. . . uh. . . personalised surroundings than my little establishment - I'm sure I can hire some out for you. . . ?"  
  
Obviously his note of pleading was lost on the fire-breathing avian // Oh no, it's okay, your place will do fine,// said the Dragon brightly. :// Man, I can't believe I'm actually going to meet all those alien people from another universe!//  
  
Of course, that was the final reason for foisting her off on Quark. His bar was an inter-species meeting place for just about every alien in the alpha quadrant conceivable - except possibly more Dragons. And, thought the ferengi gloomily, all those other paying customers would doubtless be scared off by this . . . this. . .  
  
Odo pressed open the doors and gestured for Quark to lead the Dragon out.  
  
"Oh, and I expect you know your guest is telepathic, don't you?"  
  
Disaster!  
  
He waited until he sputtered into silence, turning back to his files as a sign of dismissal.  
  
"Have a nice day."  
  
But it wasn't going to be a nice day for Quark, Q mused to himself, - or anybody else, for that matter. Because in a few hours, things were going to take a turn for the stranger. . . 


	4. The Rules Of Acquisition say

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//  
  
  
  
Part 4: The rules of acquisition say . . .  
  
". . . and don't touch anything. . ."  
  
//I wonder how do I move about without touching anything. Hmm!//  
  
"Ha!" Odo found the found the repitoire between the Dragon and Quark amusing.  
  
Quark snarled at Odo "If you did your job properly, you wouldn't allow this. . . this. . ."  
  
The Dragon whipped its head round //-Dragon, and 'this Dragon' has a name, albeit a very long name, a relatively unpronounceable name, but a name, nevertheless.//  
  
Quark breathed out sharply. "Fine!"  
  
The Dragon appeared to pull a face before moving to investigate the array of various coloured bottles on the bar's shelves.  
  
"I really do protest against this, I will lose profit and customers. . . that's bad for business!"  
  
Jake and Nog watched from the second level of the bar. Nog buried his face in his hands.  
  
"Why is he making such a fuss? Why can't he just accept what Captain Sisko has decided? Why?! Why?!"  
  
"Why is the universe big? Why are atoms small? Why! Why?!"  
  
"Jake! I'm serious." Nog, looked at his friend.  
  
"So am I." Jake returned the glare.  
  
A gentle breeze touched their cheeks and the sound of laughter pulled the duo's attention back to the awesome creature in front of them. Nog made a face, "What's so funny??"  
  
//You are.//  
  
"Why?!?" Nog demanded. The Dragon laughed so hard that it lost altitude.  
  
If Ferengi could blush then Nog could have been mistaken for a red alert.  
  
Jake cuffed Nog good-naturedly, and was rewarded with yet another glare.  
  
Nog's mind suddenly filled with calm images. He blinked, shook his head and blinked again.  
  
The Dragon looked at him. //Feel better?//  
  
Nog nodded slowly.  
  
//Good! I want to thank you for beaming me aboard.//  
  
"Nah, it's okay." Jake batted his hand at Nog.  
  
Nog instantly stopped grinning and cast another angry glance at Jake.  
  
The Dragon shook her head in the universal gesture for 'I give up' and headed to the ceiling for a bit of a nap.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile in the infirmary, changed into a brand new uniform, doctor Julian Bashir looked at his findings, again.  
  
"Incredible. . . absolutely incredible." He muttered. He scrolled down to consider the Dragon's pulmonary systems. They were intricate. . . efficiency with. . .  
  
*//Totally psychedelic colours man!//* The docrtor blinked.  
  
"What the hell. . . ?"  
  
He looked around, there was no-one else in the room with him. And it sounded as if the voice came from within his own mind. Doctor bashir wondered briefly if he was spending a little too much time on the holodeck.  
  
*//What the heck is a hollow-deck?//* Julian realized what might be transpiring. He risked sounding a little crazy:  
  
"Mumarot. . . grr - sith. . . al? Um. . . hello?"  
  
*//Mmm-Yellow?//* Came the reply.  
  
"Are you communicating with me?"  
  
*//Hmm. . . maybe.//*  
  
"Er. . . how?"  
  
*//Telepathy.//*  
  
"Why?"  
  
*//I can't help it, I'm currently sitting upside-down in your gathering place for consuming alcoholic beverages.//*  
  
"You mean the bar."  
  
*//Yeah, yeah, the bar.//*  
  
"And you're sleeping?" Julian was confused now.  
  
*//Yep. . . why?//* Bashir recognised the tone - curiosity - uh-oh.  
  
"You're sleeping. . ." He began slowly. "And. . . you're talking to me. . . via telepathy."  
  
The sound of laughter trickled into his mind.  
  
*//Yes, that's right! Why do you think that's so strange?//*  
  
"Well. . . um. . . you. . . you're. . . gosh. . . I just. . . well. . . I don't know how to put this. . . exactly." He stumbled.  
  
*//All right. . . er. . . why don't you let me?//*  
  
Bashir felt slightly lightheaded as the 'Dragon' scanned his mind for exactly what he meant.  
  
*//Oh right. . . um. . . okay, you can't. . . well you can't.//*  
  
"I know. . . " he chuckled unaware of the engineer who had appeared behind him.  
  
To Miles O'Brien, Julian Bashir was talking to himself. He shook his head. Crazy, crazy Julian.  
  
"Julian. . . "  
  
"Huh?" The doctor fell off his stool.  
  
"Yer talking to yourself. . . " O'Brien pointed knowingly, "Its the first sign of madness."  
  
*//Oh yeah, crazy . . . but then again what do you expect from a universe with no side-pull.//*  
  
"Yaah!" O'Brien jumped two feet in the air.  
  
"Don't worry Miles; she's just talking to us through our minds. Can you believe it?" That familiar nervous: 'I don't want that thing messing with my head/near me/in so much as the same quadrant as me' facial gesture passed over O'Brien's features as he quickly turned around in hopes of seeing the mental intruder.  
  
*//Mental intruder?!? Who are you calling mental intruder?//* The disembodied female voice demanded of both men.  
  
"Well, I. . . er," O'Briend stumbled to explain but was cut off by another thought:  
  
*//Ooh what the heck is that thing? . . . Ooh. . . gotta go!//* Without any ceremony, fanfare, or weird alien disengagement rituals, the third mind was gone.  
  
O'Briend and Bashir glanced at each other.  
  
"Well that was. . . unique." Bashir nodded.  
  
"Stranger things have happened."  
  
"Oh yeah? Like what?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. . . Quark's dabo table mysteriously becoming anti- Quark?" The engineer and the doctor shared a conspirital wink and a thoroughly evil laugh.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile on the other side of the Celestial temple. . .  
  
". . . and they don't know what it is?" The two Weyouns in front of her nodded, albeit differently - one, a little too enthusiastically, the other, not enthusiastically enough. The female changeling exchanged a glance with her male counterpart, who shrugged.  
  
"Why are there two of you?" she asked. The overly enthusiastic Weyoun cast a glance at his mirror image, who shrugged and peered uninterestedly at a nearby console, before stepping up with bounce. Grinning like an idiot, he waved playfully at the Jem'Hadar guards behind the two changelings, then he launched into his answer:  
  
"Well. . . there was an accident in the cloning process which resulted in the creation of two of us. Apparently its impossible for the cloning plant to make another Weyoun right now, so. . . "  
  
He lunged forward a step and punched the female changeling on the arm in an all-too-familiar gesture ". . . you're stuck with us, and we'll do the bestest, best job ever."  
  
"Yay." The other looked at the first and waved his finger slowly in circles, his expression looked to be set in a permanent grimace. Evidently the enthusiastic Weyoun didn't get the sarcasm.  
  
"That's the spirit!! . . . well I digress. Fun as this is, we have to get back to business. . . " The other Weyoun wandered off to look at the other consoles.  
  
"Oh no," he said mockingly, "not back to business." The first Weyoun turned.  
  
"Don't worry, the quicker we get it done, the sooner we can play some games!" He jumped up and down on the spot and clapped, "yay!!" The other Weyoun mimicked him "and after that, I might get to top myself. Yay. . . "  
  
"Of course. And as we all know. . . " he broke off before clearing his throat. The two changelings exchanged glances.  
  
He smiled as he started to sing:  
  
  
  
"A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down,  
  
the medicine go doooooown,  
  
the medicine go down,  
  
oh, a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down,  
  
in the most delightful way. . . "  
  
  
  
  
  
"STOP!" The female changeling commanded this, this overly happy cloned Vorta. The singing Weyoun jumped down from the seat he was perched on. "Now." She gathered her thoughts. This Dragon could prove useful in the Dominion fight for domination of the Alpha quadrant, that is if the information they'd. . . acquired from the Starfleet message was accurate.  
  
"I want you to take that starfleet ship and. . . hm. . . " The talkative Weyoun beamed. "and go through the wormhole, get aboard Deep Space nine, and get this 'Dragon' to join us. . . in any way you can."  
  
Her male counterpart nodded and indictacted to the chatty Weyoun. He skipped over, waving to the female Changling, the jem'Hadar and the other Weyoun, who rolled his eyes and sighed grumperliy. As the door slid closed, the female Changling shuddered internally as the moron of a Vorta started up again.  
  
"So. . . my name's Weyoun, what's yours? Where are we going? Will it be long? Can we play games? Are we there yet? . . . "  
  
  
  
"CEASE YOUR INFERNAL TALKING!!"  
  
The alpha Jem'Hadar turned to see the talkative Weyoun and the male founder enter. The talkative Weyoun ignored the founder's command.  
  
"But when will we get there?"  
  
"When we get there, we'll know, now shut up!!" the founder closed his eyes, Weyoun didn't. Instead he went on to encourage the troops.  
  
Preperation for the journey took five minutes. However when the founder looked over to the Jem'Hadar, they looked back pleading with their dull eyes for permission to rip the annoying Vorta limb from limb, stuff him in a torpedo and fire him at the enemy.  
  
He shook his head and caught sight of himself; humans were so ugly and fragile and had strange alien ways of existence.  
  
Bracing himself for the forth-coming journey, he instructed the Vorta to come along.  
  
  
  
Back up on the command centre. . .  
  
"Why me?" he whined.  
  
The female Changling whipped her head round in shock, she was so shocked, and she forgot to whip the rest of her body around with it. No-one had every questioned her orders before, she was shocked, this Vorta was whining. "Because I say so, now do it."  
  
"But I don't wanna!" he stamped his foot impatiently.  
  
"It's tough! Now go before I make the Jem'Hadar persuade you."  
  
"Oh sure threaten me with those animals." He walked off "fine I'll do it but if you lose this confrontation, then it isn't my fault."  
  
As he stormed off, she wondered the intelligence of allowing this defective Vorta to be the commanding officer of the vanguard of the Dominion fleet. 


	5. When One Has Many Lives, One has Many Fr...

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//  
  
  
  
Part 5: When One Has Many Lives, One has Many Friends . . .  
  
Ensconced with her husband back at their quarters, Dax smiled winningly at the picture book before her.  
  
Beside her, Worf glowered his perpetual glower like a miniature thundercloud: the point of going through ancient texts as obsolete as the combustion engine was beyond him - although he had to admit, the illustrations were convincingly lifelike. Just like the Dragon, in appearance and abilities considering how, according to Odo, she had recently set fire to the whole of sickbay - including its occupant. He had to admire that capacity.  
  
"Ah, I knew it had to be in here somewhere. . . look at this."  
  
More information about Dragons, in incredibly archaic language. Only Jadzia would find pleasure in such a task. Of course, she thought, the old earth volumes hadn't mentioned anything about Dragons from another universe. . .  
  
Worf, on the other hand, she knew suspected some sort of convoluted threat. Not just to the carpeting. But unless their enemies had managed to get their hands on a time-travel device, which brought up the question of: if so, why did they still exist? - then they couldn't refute the Dragon's story. She shrugged and set the myth aside. Intriguing, but it was total fiction, and-  
  
The combadge blipped.  
  
"Kira to Dax. We have company."  
  
"On my way."  
  
And then to Worf, waiting impatiently at the door:  
  
"Looks like we're in for another interesting day."  
  
"Interesting is not the proper word."  
  
Later he was to be proved right.  
  
They exited the turbolift to find the rest of the senior staff already assembled, and to find the crystalline maw of the wormhole gaping into space once more.  
  
  
  
Aboard the founders stolen starfleet ship, the male changling considered shooting the chatty vorta.  
  
"Are we almost there? Do you want to play a game? Can we sing?" The male changling entered the communication code for Deep Space nine.  
  
"Yes, no, no,"  
  
"Oh Goody!" Again the moron jumped up and down and clapped.  
  
"Stop that!" It was getting really very annoying. He turned and checked his face against the picture of the person he was impersonating. Beria Jodvosky, a scientist and former friend of Curzon Dax. Not a flaw, good.  
  
Beep-Beep. The comm chanel called his attention.  
  
"You remember what I told you?"  
  
"Oh, yes, oh goody, I love hide and seeek. I'll go and hide. . .Don't peek." Off ran the vorta.  
  
"Don't worry, I won't." Muttered the changling as he turned to greet the federation crew.  
  
"Do you want me to give you clues?" The happy vorta bounded off.  
  
"No!"  
  
  
  
  
  
After this morning's excitement, you could almost hear the anticlimax as it disgorged a tiny vessel, which managed to look nervous and unmenacing even from thousands of metres away. Looked like the Dragon wasn't their only unexpected visitor for today. The markings placed the craft as some sort of scientific Federation design, which was unusual, out here in the war-torn alpha quadrant, but innocuous enough.  
  
Sisko was also here - Dax turned to take her cue from him.  
  
He gestured: "Hail them, old man."  
  
The channel blipped open much like her comlink had earlier.  
  
"H-hello? this is 'the Explorer,' is this, um, Deep Space nine . . . ? I- I think, I mean, I'd like to request permission to dock? Please?"  
  
Interference hissed over the screen, they thought they heard a 'No!' from the background, that was odd considering their readings had only registered one lifesign.  
  
However, at this communication, Dax stared. She recognised this person - not from the present, but from one of her symbiont's memories, and held up her hand to forestall a reply as she sorted through the past with the skill of long practise. The memory was quite vague, but she could put a name and face to the nervous-looking man hailing them.  
  
"To 'the Explorer': this is science officer Jadzia Daz of Deep Space nine. Please stand by."  
  
First they had to verify the man's story . . . it seemed they would doing a lot of that these days. It was so inconvenient having shapeshifters as opponents.  
  
Frowning in concentrating, and biting her lip, she swiftly sifted through the database. . . yes, a ship named 'the Explorer' had departed about a year back, and never returned. A quick survey answered this - the tiny vessel looked as geriatric as she would in kindergarten, and its engines damaged to boot. No wonder the lone passenger was nervous. Worf shifted by her side and she was glad of his standing beside her.  
  
The man blinked a little.  
  
"Dax? Curzon?"  
  
"No. This is Jadzia Dax"- she could tell him later about the change of hosts, if they could draw in his drunkenly reeling runabout. "Who are you and why are you requesting permission to dock?"  
  
Standard procedure to ask, although the staggering craft was a reason in and of itself.  
  
"I- uh, I'm Beria Jodvosky. I'm a scientist. . . I was on a mission o-of scientific, um, exploration. I was stranded - on an isolated outpost. I had an accident. With, some sort of. . . uh, space debris. Meteor. My ship-. . ." no need to state the obvious, or worry the over-excitable stammerer, gesticulating needlessly to his rather singed-looking vessel. Almost as singed as sickbay, so it must have been badly damaged. "- it was only repaired a few months ago. I came back here. . . but w-what's been going on? There's. . . there's ships. . . what's going on?"  
  
Ah.  
  
He'd probably missed most of the war.  
  
Ah.  
  
This was going to take a while to explain - and meant letting him aboard, obviously.  
  
Dax glanced to one side and, as expected, Sisko nodded to her - yes, he had accepted the pilot's gratuitously mutilated speech of explanation. For now. Anyway, they could hardly keep him hanging around waiting for his ship to slowly disintergrate around him, there didn't seem to be a cloaked armada hiding among the stars, and they could take the necessary precautions to keep information safe on this station. Although from what she remembered, there would be no need of that with Beria.  
  
"Welcome aboard, 'Explorer'."  
  
Worf rolled his eyes at there being another of Dax's endless acquaintances over the years. His sense of humour was improving. 


	6. Duck! What An Important Word

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//  
  
Part 6: Duck! What An Important Word . . .  
  
  
  
If Worf's sense of humor was improving then, few hours later, the situation in Quark's bar was not.  
  
This was probably due to the fact that a Dragon was balanced precariously on one of the stools - a feat of incredible dexterity, to fit a three-metre- long lizard (including serpentine neck and tail) wings and all, on one of the bar stools. Or not exactly fit - to keep her balance in this 'really weird gravity' both wings were half-outstretched, which was more than enough to dislodge any unfortunate sitting in the adjacent seats . . . many of whom had discreetly slipped away anyway, when confronted with fangs the size of most people's hands and an appetite to match. Except for the reliable Morn, of course.  
  
And OF course, the Dragon conveniently had no concept of currency and so forebore to pay for the increasingly large meal festooning the table in front of her.  
  
In the throes of despair, head in hands, or else banging it repeatedly against the table top, subtly lit to provide a cosy ambience - but carefully: no need to damage his earlobes - the ferengi watched his business go down the drain.  
  
Then, because banging his head was a non-profit enterprise, he stopped. There had to be, there was always, a way to turn the situation to his advantage. Even when that situation entailed a large, fire-breathing monster with a boundless fascination for everything this universe had to offer.  
  
And if not, there was always someone to take it out on.  
  
"Rom, get over here."  
  
Dopily eager to please, as he often seemed, his brother hurried over.  
  
"Yes brother?"  
  
"I want you to get that Dragon doing something useful."  
  
His brow furrowed as he paused. "Useful?"  
  
"Yes, you idiot, useful - get it out of here or use it as some sort of attraction."  
  
Preferably the latter: that would keep the both of them occupied for a while.  
  
"Like: 'Quark's most intriguing form of entertainment: new creature from another universe?'"  
  
He threw up his hands in exasperation. Obviously slogan-writing, unlike engineering, was not his strong point.  
  
"Fine. Just so long as you get some customers back in here: I have a business to run."  
  
At that moment, however, his problem seemed set to solve itself. The Dragon clambered off her stool and loped over to their whispered conversation.  
  
:-// Hi again. This is really cool! But, um . . . have you seen . . . guy with the yellow uniform . . . about so high. . . know where he is? Whatsisname. . . uh. . .//  
  
The effort of articulation tailed off.  
  
Rom said: "O'Brien?"  
  
Quark said: "Odo?"  
  
:- //Who-do? Probably. Always annoyed. Introduced us.//  
  
A healthy dose of grousing resentment crept into his voice. "That would be Odo. Of course I know where he is. Its my job to know where he is."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
He hated it when the shapeshifter snuck up on him like that, which was, incidentally, probably why he did.  
  
"You see? I only have to say-"  
  
He interrupted. "Excuse me. Will you please come with me for a minute?" Addressing the Dragon, although considering the number of scams he had been involved in lately, it could have just as easily been Quark.  
  
:- //Great! Where are we going next?//  
  
"The Captain wants to see you. This way."  
  
How either of them could stand each other's company was a mystery. Or at least, how the Dragon could enjoy the changeling's company, and Odo endure in the manner of the long-suffering his self-appointed shadow's boundless zeal. Their personalities clashed completely - particularly since that little incident in sickbay had shown the intimidatingly enthusiastic Dragon's love of practical jokes. However, their leaving signalled a substantial increase in trade, so he wasn't about to complain. He had an idea of how to get rid of his problem. . . "I'm coming with you"  
  
Odo shook his head "I don't think so"  
  
"Tough! *I'm* going to see the captain"  
  
Knowing that he wasn't going to win this, Cdo conceded. "All right, come on"  
  
Ignoring the smirk of satisfaction on his nemesis's face, bombarded by endless questions - and the occasional physical buffet as the Dragon forgot their station's interior wasn't built for a flying 3 meter Dragon, whose wing span was a similar length, and spread them - Odo walked out and hoped against hope that some intelligent company - i.e., major Kira Nerys - would be present in Sisko's office.  
  
If Odo was a religious man, he would have thanked his god/profits/latinum/goddesses. But he wasn't so he didn't. Instead he was intensely grateful that the journey to the captain's office was short.  
  
"Ooooohhh, we're here again! FUN!!"  
  
"just you wait , the captain will put somewhere where you aren't a threat to my profits!!"  
  
the Dragon stuck out her tongue "bleah"  
  
Quark stomped "huh!"  
  
Odo considered becoming a statue.  
  
The doors to captain Sisko's office simply parted.  
  
  
  
  
  
He'd sat there for the last 10 minutes, listening to Quark's reasons why the Dragon shouldn't stay in his bar. Last count was 47 reasons. He picked up his baseball and really did consider throwing it at the short, annoying bartender. Allowing his gaze to settle on his chief of security, he could see the stoic changeling looked like he was also entertaining the idea of inflicting harm to Quark. Captain Benjamin Sisko closed his eyes and tuned back into Quark's tirade.  
  
"I will not torlerate this. . . unprofitable, *stupid* animal threating my staff, *me* included."  
  
To this the Dragon, who'd balanced herself precariously on the edge of the desk, to this the Dragon appeared to take offence. Holding up her claws, she wiggled newly formed digits at him.  
  
"whoohoo. . . opposable thumbed, transdimentional, multispacial . . . admittedly accidentally, sentient life form!! Hel-low!"  
  
Quark made the mistake off not paying attention.  
  
The Dragon crossed her arm, and to Sisko, she pouted. "Right", she said more to herself then to anyone "that's it, little, big-eared, thingy - bipedal!!"  
  
She breathed in, let out a small puff of purple flame, finding everything in order and breathed in a little deeper.  
  
Before Odo or Sisko could do anything, the Dragon breathed fire. Everything appeared to move in slow motion. In the brief split second, before it left her lips, a familiar flash appeared, between the Dragon and Quark, that caused Sisko to think #*oh no, not now, not Q!!*#  
  
Unfortunately, it was. . . opening his mouth, and posing. "TA - DA!!" he sang.  
  
"DUCK!!" was all that Sisko could think to call out before the lick of purple flame made first contact with Q's hair.  
  
"Hey!" Q started at the inferno that had consumed his head.  
  
"Sorry, I was aiming for thingy" the Dragon jerked her head towards Quark.  
  
Q clicked his fingers and a man appeared. He was human, clad in a bright yellow mackintosh which had the word 'FIRE' printed on the back, black trousers, big boots and a bright red helmet.  
  
In a deep southern accent he said:  
  
"What the devil. . .?"  
  
"Ah!" Q clapped his hands together and motioned to his fiery head of hair. "If you would be so kind. . . "  
  
The man looked from Q to the hose in his hands as if it was completely alien to him. Q clapped a hand over his eyes and dragged it down his face in mock-desperation "Put. . . the. . . fire. . . out!"  
  
The man looked indignantly at Q.  
  
"I'm a doctor, damnit, not a fireman. What am I doing here? Where is my sickbay? Did that green blooded walking computer son of a--?"  
  
Q interrupted. "Because I say so, on the Enterprise, NO!" he huffed "Fine! DON'T help me then!"  
  
Odo, Quark and Sisko just watched this scene play out, in stunned silence. Sisko was the first to snap out of it, sluttering "Aren't you. . .?"  
  
"Yes, I am," He turned to Q again, "Now, listen here you, young whippersnapper, you send me back, send me back to my sickbay, RIGHT NOW!!"  
  
"Not until you put out my hair"  
  
"I've already told you I'M A DOCTOR, DAMNIT, NOT A FIREMAN!!!!"  
  
The Dragon decided to intervene by blowing a shot of cold blue flame over the hot purple fire that had taken up residence on Q's head. This was greeted with protest. "Awww. . . I wanted him to do it!"  
  
"Oh stop being so childish" she turned to the Doctor "Where did you say you came from?"  
  
"I'm the chief of the medical department aboard the Starship Enterprise, NCC - 1701."  
  
"Uh huh, what century?"  
  
"WHAT CENTURY??" he looked accusingly at Q "Just what the devil have you done?" his accent getting more prominent as he flushed with anger.  
  
Q tried to look innocent but failed miserably.  
  
"Please," the Dragon prodded, "what century?"  
  
"The 23rd!" he continued to glower at Q.  
  
"Okay, that's all I need to know, thank you."  
  
She closed her eyes, briefly and turned to Q. Opening her eyes, she nodded and clicked her claws.  
  
In a flash, the glowering doctor disappeared.  
  
"Hey! That was MY humourous way of putting out my hair. . ." placing a hand gingerly on top, ". . . talking of which, what is going to be done about my hair? It was one of my most dashing qualities, a lot of women have run their fingers through it."  
  
"Ugh! What were they hoping to find?"  
  
Q gasped, "I am considered debonair beyond comparison, compelling, the most desired being in the universe"  
  
The Dragon looked from Q, to Sisko, to Odo and to Quark, then back to Q. "Then *your* universe has low standards!"  
  
That remark, coupled with the priceless look of complete disbelief on Q's face that accompanied it, made Sisko let out a loud guffaw.  
  
Q shot him a dirty look. "Don't encourage her!"  
  
"Her observation is remarkably perceptive." Odo gave the Dragon a bemused glance.  
  
She ducked her head graciously. "Thank-you."  
  
"Excuse me, what are you planning to do about my HAIR?"  
  
The Dragon looked back at Q, she clicked her claws again and, in the twinkling of an eye, Q's hair was restored to its former 'glory'. "How do you do that?" Q looked really, truly shocked.  
  
The Dragon shrugged. "It appears I have adapted your abilities."  
  
"Adapted my abilities!?!" Q, for once, was completely without a clue. "How can you 'adapt' MY abilities?"  
  
"Well, I . . ." the Dragon looked positively sheepish. ". . . I, well. . . How can I put this? . . . well my people. . . we. . . when we. . ."  
  
"Oh! Just spit it out!!" Q looked worried, and for that matter so was Sisko. In the few hours that the Dragon had been here, she had 'adapted' a lot of things. If she fell into the hands of the Founders. . .  
  
"The Founders? . . . who the heck are the Founders?" the Dragon peered curiously at Sisko. He started. She looked at the floor. "Sorry, force of habit, kinda thing, that's, um, how I adapt, I read people's mind, pick the best, most useful qualities of the environment and assimilate them. . . who the heck are the Borg?" She stared blatently at Sisko, whose look of confusion was mirrored through the room.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The Borg? When I said I assimilate others' abilities, you associated me with the name Borg."  
  
Q, having never been very good at not being the centre of everyone's attention, interrupted. "Excuse me, but you have my abilities, come from another universe AND can read minds?"  
  
"Yep. . . MASS GENOCIDE?! YOU associate ME with MASS GENOCIDAL MONSTERS??"  
  
Now it was Sisko's turn to look sheepish. "I'm sorry, it's just the way you adapt . . . it just reminds me of them . . ."  
  
"oh, okay. . ." she flashed him a sweet, toothy but sweet grin. "I'm really not so bad."  
  
"Well, if you ask me. . ." Quark jumped in. This time the Dragon didn't miss, however the effect was short lived as Quark was as hairless as tin.  
  
Q was getting quite impatient now. He adapted an accent Odo had heard from O'Brien a couple of times. . . western cow. . . boy?  
  
"Well, if y'all be askin' me, kid, there ain't enough room on this here station f' the both o' us. . . an' since this be Q territory, I think y'all outta be moving on out." The Dragon looked at Q blankly. He continued. "Now, y'all can mosie on along and I won't have t' force ya. I make it my business not t' hurt a lady like ya self. . ."  
  
"Hang on a minutes, you think you could force me to leave?"  
  
Q dropped the accent, rolled up his sleaves and took an aggressive stance. "Yep. . . draggie"  
  
"Draggie. . .? I'll show you Draggie!!" She breathed fire once again but this time Sisko could feel the heat of this blood-red flame. Q's hair once more was engulfed in fire, and began to crackle. He yelped in surprise, clicked his fingers and a gale appeared and blew out his hair. Catching a glimpse of himself with his burned head, he scowled at this Dragon who had dared oppose him. With a click of his fingers, he restored his prized hair.  
  
Odo glanced at Sisko and could see the captain sharing his growing concern. Here in this office were two very powerful beings, capable of many things and they were building a very unhealthy rivalry, which could prove even more destructive than the present war that loomed over them.  
  
The Dragon appeared to follow the officers' line of thought when she threw back her head and began her strange laughter. At this, Q flushed a deep angry red.  
  
"And what are you laughing at?" He demanded.  
  
"Oh, you, them, this universe without its side-pull gravity!!" This sent her into anough flood of giggles. Noting the seriously insulted look on Q, she stopped laughing and tried her hardest to maintain a sombre expression as she levelled her gaze at Q.  
  
"Oh come on! They think we're going to destroy their station just because you're being silly!"  
  
"Oh, so it's like that? Well maybe YOU should just leave."  
  
"But I was here first so . . ." she grinned mockingly at him, "it seems t' little ol' me, ya'll be the one mosie on out of 'ere." She indicated the door with her thumb.  
  
Q smirked, "Well if I can't get rid of you maybe I should call in a professional!"  
  
He clicked his fingers, and there appeared in Sisko's office:- a knight in shinning armour complete with a flag, sword and a high purple feather plume atop a silver helmet. He looked straight out of a storybook. He looked around, took a half step back at the sight of a 3 meter long dragon perched on Sisko's, his visor-ed gaze fell on Q. Although muffled, a distinct voice yelled "Q!! What the Hell am I doing here?"  
  
"Why, you're here to get rid of her!" he pointed at the dragon, which stuck her tongue out at him. The knight turned briefly to the dragon, and then back to Q.  
  
"I don't know what game you are playing . . ."  
  
"Excuse me," Sisko and Odo approached the fairy tale knight with caution. Sisko continued slowly. "Don't worry, we can get you back, just give us your sword . . ."  
  
"Captain Sisko, trust me, the moment I get this armour off, I will be able to hand you the sword, until then you'll have to take it from me."  
  
Realisation hit Sisko like a sledgehammer to the face, in fact the sensation was so physical Sisko stumbled back a few steps. Odo came up behind him.  
  
"Captain?"  
  
Sisko shook his head, and sat down behind his desk. Staring bluntly at the mysterious knight, Sisko thought *No, no, no, no, no*  
  
"Captain, are you alright? Why are you repeating No to yourself?" The dragon peered at him.  
  
Sisko snapped out of his funk, repeated his thoughts and punctuate it by thumping his head on his desk.  
  
"Not him" THUMP! "Not him" THUMP! "ANY-" THUMP! "-Body" THUMP! "But-" THUMP! "Blimmin'-" THUMP! "-PICARD!!"  
  
"That can't be good for those brain cells," the dragon added innocently.  
  
The knight tried to lift his arm up, and failed miserably. "Captain Sisko, get Q to send me back, and both of us would be much happier."  
  
Q looked a little disappointed. "Two of my favourite captains don't like each other?"  
  
Sisko pointed at the armoured Starfleet captain. "This man killed my wife."  
  
"Is that why you don't like me?" Came the muffled plea.  
  
"Yes. . . and don't get me started on your accent, the uniform thing and. . . oh my goodness. . . stop saying TEA EARL GREY HOT!!"  
  
The armoured captain's stance became indignant. "Wel-ll, Mr. Everytime-I- Get-Excited-I-Start-To-Hyperventilate-So-Just-Agree-With-Me-To-Avoid-A-Long- Winded-Lecture-About-Why-I'm-Right. . ."  
  
"WHAT?" Sisko's chair rattled back against the wall.  
  
"Look gentlemen. . ." The constable moved between the two captains.  
  
"Wait, wait, wait!" Quark jumped in between them. "If you two want to have a fight, you can't do it here. . . Look at yourselves, you're Starfleet and you in an official office of Starfleet. . ."  
  
For a few moments Sisko and the armoured Picard bowed their heads in shame. Quark continued "However, if you wish to continue this in a venue more profitable. . . I'm sure I can arrange this. . . at a reasonable margin of-- -"  
  
"Thank you Quark, for a moment there I thought you meant it, Goodbye now." And with that Odo thrust Quark out of Sisko's office. Odo wiped his hands and turned back to the feuding captains who were now trading insults about each other's posts and crews.  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Yeah! You have a poncy crew, with a poncy ship and a poncy mission, and you ponce about all day!"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yep, and you have a poncy walk too and a poncy uniform with a stupid poncy fish in your stupid poncy ready room."  
  
"Are you done now?"  
  
"No. . . well, yes."  
  
"Good 'cause. . . " Picard paused.  
  
He swivelled his entire body round to Q. Slightly muffled but clearly annoyed, Picard yelled. "Q! Get this helmet off my head so I can insult him properly."  
  
For once Q seemed compliant with Picard's wishes as he stepped forward and removed the offending helmet from Picard's head. Sisko sank back into his chair. It was soon obvious why Q was so compliant. Although Q had removed the helmet, the purple plume remained sticking out of the back of Picard's head.  
  
Q stepped back, flashing a grin at the two shocked Starfleet officers and the dragon, he brought a finger up to his lips and mentioned to them to remain silent.  
  
Picard, having obviously not noticed that there was a large feather plastered to the back of his skull, began his barrage of insults to Sisko.  
  
"At least I don't go around copying other people's haircut!"  
  
The Dragon clapped her claws over her snout, and look for all the world, as if she was trying not to laugh.  
  
". . . And at least my crew are nice respectable people with perfect backgrounds. . ."  
  
Odo crossed his arms and shook his head slowly.  
  
". . . And at least. . . at least my head has a more natural shine than yours!"  
  
Thinking that he had delivered the ultimate insult, Picard regarded Sisko with a smug glare, expecting to see him truly put down. Instead, Sisko was leaning back in his chair with a very satisfied grin on his face. A small snort escaped the Dragon, Picard turned his head to glare at her. Of course, the feather bounced merrily and teased Q's nose. He sneezed rather loudly. Again, Picard moved and again the feather sneaked around, this time to tickle the Dragon, who began to start giggling whilst all the time trying to maintain a straight face.  
  
Once again Picard swivelled to confront the dragon. She tried not to stare blatantly at the mysterious purple plume and looked Picard in the eye.  
  
"What, may I ask, is so humorous?" He demanded. When no reply was forthcoming, he shook his head. This was the last straw to Sisko, who threw his head back and laughed a deep, rumbling. "Aha-ha-ha-ha" He stamped his feet under his desk in positive glee. Even Odo smirked.  
  
"WHAT'S GOING ON?!" Picard shook with absolute rage which made the feather quiver in mock fear and a greater swell of laughter came forth. Odo, straight man as he was, permitted himself a small "ha!"  
  
This served to make Picard even more annoyed. "Q, what have you done?"  
  
"Moi? Oh Jean-Luc, why blame dear old innocent me?"  
  
Picard whipped round to face the dragon, again the picture of innocence. Regarding him with the straightest face she could muster, she said:  
  
"Its not funny, its stupid and puerile and utterly immature. . ." She trailed off and looked at Sisko and Odo who also stopped laughing and were trying to maintain a serious expression. She continued ". . . and I think it would be in everyone's best. . ." Picard's feather bobbed as he nodded his agreement, the dragon coughed into her claw to cover the laugh ". . . ahem, best interests if Q sent you back to. . . your ship, . . ." Q pulled a face "No, I don't wanna-"  
  
"Q, do it," she urged.  
  
"No!" he crossed his arms in defiance. "I want him here!"  
  
The dragon looked slightly peeved at Q. She clicked her claws and the armour but not the plume disappeared. She winked at Q, communicating this better offer. "Fine, just send him back. AS HE IS." She said with emphasis.  
  
Picard looked from Q, to the dragon not fully understanding the change in the agreement.  
  
He shook his head Q nodded.  
  
"Okay. . . 'till next time Jean-Luc!"  
  
Picard disappeared in a flash of light.  
  
He looked around, he was in a turbolift. The doors swished open and revealed his bridge. Picard breathed a sigh of relief. He walked purposefully to his command chair. "Number One, did anything happen while I was away?"  
  
"Welcome back sir, what did Q want?" Riker was engrossed in his console, finishing off a report. "We figured when we couldn't find you, Q had decided to play."  
  
"He dressed me up in armour and took me to DS9 to slay a dragon."  
  
Riker turned to face the captain.  
  
"Well I hope you. . . slayed . . . it. . . good. . ."he trailed off and he pointed a finger at Picard. He looked absolutely flabbergasted. "Sir. . . are you . . . all right?"  
  
Picard looked confused, as his first officer couldn't seem to be able to formulate the right words. After opening and closing his mouth for several moments, Riker suddenly turned to the viewscreen and said "Oh, look. . . a star, never seen one of those before!" He moved away before Picard could enquire. Picard wondered briefly if he appeared ill. He turned and walked into the readyroom to look. When he peered into the mirror, he realised the source of Sisko's amusement and Riker's speechlessness.  
  
His mouth dropped open. . .  
  
Back on DS9. . .  
  
Q had to jump straight to Sisko's office window and pressed against the glass.  
  
Sisko was about to enquire when Q waved his arm at him.  
  
"SHHHH. . . shush. . . wait, wait. . ."  
  
The office fell silent. Both the dragon and Q seemed to strain to hear something.  
  
"Patience. . . wait for it. . . and. . ." he trailed off and suddenly grinned. "YES-SS!" Q clicked his fingers and turned himself into an old- fashioned baseball player. He threw his cap on the floor, jumped up and down, and celebrated. "Ah!! And the crowd goes wild!!" Q ran around twice before the dragon deliberately tripped him up with her tail.  
  
THUMP! Q disappeared in front of Sisko's desk. He struggled back to his feet.  
  
"Why'd you do that?"  
  
"You annoy me." She stated simply: "I think you should leave now."  
  
"This is my universe, you leave."  
  
"No, I was here first."  
  
The humour of this situation soon slipped away as the powerful entities' argument boiled into a serious yelling match. Now, Sisko and Odo became concerned as threats were introduced. Finally, Q put a stop to their dispute.  
  
"Fine! I challenge you to a war!!"  
  
The room, the very station, seemed to fall into silence. Suddenly the war with the Dominion didn't seem so significant anymore. A war between these two was much more frightening.  
  
The dragon hopped off her perch on Sisko's desk and drew herself to her full 3-meter height and brought her head down to level her eye with Q's.  
  
"All right. . . if that's what it takes, I'll flatten. . ."  
  
"WAIT! WE ALREADY HAVE A WAR ON OUR HANDS!" Sisko jumped in, having grasped their attention, he continued, "Can't you settle your differences in a less violent way. You are super-intelligent, very powerful beings. . ."  
  
"Excuse me, *I* am the. . ." Q started.  
  
"Shut up! What I'm saying is, why can't you settle your differences in a more peaceful manner. Why choose a war when it can be as simple as tossing a strip of latinum, maybe even choosing one of us to choose. We could even hold a vote. Destruction is wrong. Please, for the sake of the universe, please don't go to war about this meaningless decision." 


	7. When the enemy can’t be bothered

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//  
  
  
  
Part 7 : When the enemy can't be bothered . . .  
  
Sisko breathe a long sigh and hoped his point had reached home. There was a ponderous moment before anyone spoke. Q was the first to break it.  
  
"You know Jean-Luc was right, you do hyperventilate!"  
  
Odo covered his eyes in exasperation. "Weren't you listening?"  
  
The Dragon nodded solemnly. "I was, and they're right we can't destroy their universe over our petty squabble"  
  
"But wars are fun!" Q wheedled.  
  
"No, they're not."  
  
"Yes, they are."  
  
"Look, I'm not going to argue with you anymore. . ."  
  
"But. . ."  
  
"Shush! Maybe we can find another way. If not a war, then something where one can win and you can lose."  
  
"Yeah. . .wait! Who said I was going to lose?"  
  
"Oh, you know you're gonna lose!" the Dragon drew herself to her full height, and peered down at Q. "The question is what are we going to do and whose going to choose?"  
  
Q thought about it, got an idea and materialised a small, round, flat piece of glass. One side had 'Dragon', the other 'Q'. He flipped it and quickly covered it with his hand.  
  
"Ok, result means who chooses. Agreed?" The dragon nodded. Q moved his hand but quickly clamped his hand back. "And it's a game from home universe."  
  
"Yes." She said impatiently.  
  
He moved his hand. Sisko and Odo leaned over the desk to see the result.  
  
Q had won. It was his choice. Q was choosing. Oh no. Not Q!  
  
  
  
And so it was.  
  
For once, he considered it seriously. Q was a Joker, an imperious prankster who normally would make it seem, if the circumstances weren't so dire, like they'd have fun.  
  
"Alright, the game is Dabo."  
  
"Okay" the Dragon agreed  
  
"Wait." Odo interjected, "the Dabo table is broken, you'll just have to find something else." For once, Odo was pleased that Quark had come to him about something so trivial. . .  
  
"All right, since your choice is redundant my choice. . .um. . .ah, we can play Mian'tow. . .no, wait we can't."  
  
Q eyed the Dragon, "Why not?"  
  
"Your stupid universe doesn't have any side pull!"  
  
"Ha!" Q clapped "My turn! Okay, We'll play a card game!"  
  
"Picard game?"  
  
"It'll be alright on the night if you play your Picards right!" Q clicked his fingers and a padd appeared. "Here's a copy of the rules for any two player card game we could play."  
  
The dragon looked doubtfully at the padd.  
  
"Hey, I might be a dashing-beyond-all-comparison-unbelievably-powerful- being, but." there was a note of sincerity in Q's voice ". . .I'm not a liar."  
  
The dragon acquiested and took the padd. Q's head jerked as if he had been called. He turned back. "I've got to go. . . the ol' ball and chain's moaning. . ."  
  
Sisko interupted "YOU'RE MARRIED?!?"  
  
Q nodded "yep" he counted off on his fingers, "Ball an' chain, little Q. . ." he beamed the way only a proud father could, "have I told you how smart he is? I've already taught him how knock small planets out of orbit and. . ."  
  
"Q!" A terse female voice sliced into the room. There stood a red haired woman and a small boy. The 'ol' ball and an' chain and little Q it would seem.  
  
The boy walked toward the Dragon, the woman turned her attention to the boy. "Q!" the boy stopped and turned to the woman. She continued "both of you, we have to go." And with that was gone. The boy and his father both let out a heavy sigh. Q clicked his finger and both disappeared.  
  
Q's disembodied voice echoed through the room. "I'll be back!"  
  
The dragon nodded and toddled somewhat awkwardly out of the room. Odo looked to Sisko, Sisko to Odo, both stared at the door.  
  
"That was. . .strange" Said Sisko.  
  
"To say the least. . ." Odo huffed.  
  
  
  
O' Brien and Bashir were enjoying both a game of darts, and front-row seats at the spectacle of a Dragon and a faulty set of Dabo tables driving away most of the customers. A quick look over her shoulder showed her to be studying the rules of the complex card game.  
  
Squinted in concentration as he aimed for the board - then let out a 'hah!' of satisfaction as the streamlined arrow pierced the board.  
  
"Beat that one, Julian-" No answer. O'Brien turned to see Bashir, who was staring thoughtfully over his shoulder at the Dragon. Again.  
  
"Julian - is everything all right?"  
  
"What? Yes? Oh, sorry Chief. I was just thinking-"  
  
The Irish engineer was unimpressed.  
  
"Keep your mind on the game, Julian. I mean, its not as if this is the only alien species we've ever seen."  
  
"Yes, but its totally unlike any of the variations I've studied: its genotype - it doesn't even have a genotype."  
  
O'Brien looked upward. Not for long, though, as his attention returned to the dysfunctional tables and he nudged his companion. Once again a victorious cry of "DABO!" resounded around the bar  
  
They shared a conspiratorial grin.  
  
"I won't tell if you won't."  
  
It was at that moment their other, non-draconic visitor, escorted by an unusually harried-looking Dax, entered the scene. Of itself, the normally elegant trill's discomposure should have forewarned them - it was a sign of definite anxiety that she wore a slight pensive frown when she scanned the room and spotted them.  
  
The two headed straight for them, which would under normal circumstances have been welcome, at least by the doctor, but even from here, in the inordinately quiet premises, they could hear the incessant babble of a neurotic starship pilot increasing in volume proportional to their proximity.  
  
The stocky engineer backed off a little and cleared his throat:  
  
"Well, I'd better be off. Needs some modifications made to the environmental systems. I'll - er - see you later."  
  
"Ah, Julian."  
  
He considered whether to be flattered or afraid that Dax seemed strangely pleased to see him, until her unfeigned smile of relief decided for him.  
  
"Beria - this is our chief medical officer, Julian Bashir." Another smile, one he returned, one accompanied with a comprehensive 'sit-down' gesture and a clever about-face. "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about after your research into in the outpost. . ."  
  
Before he knew it, his long-time associate had discreetly left him with the walking Dictaphone.  
  
Beria beamed at him.  
  
"Oh its s-s-so good to see a f-fellow s-s-scien--, I mean, scientist in the same profession! I've read all about the processes, of, um, genetic e- engineering- this is, well, its an honour to, um . . .!"  
  
Long after his eyes had glazed over and his throat was working awkwardly to insert a sensible excuse into the monologue, Dax came back to rescue him.  
  
In much the same tone as she had used earlier, Bashir laughed weakly  
  
"Oh, Jadzia. . . can I have a word with you for a moment? Excuse me." That last to Beria, causing his idiotic grin to widen still further. It wasn't that his speech impediment and the hesitations were so bad, he reflected. It was just that. . . well, the sheer energy of enthusiasm drained any onlooker of all his strength, out of sheer disbelief and fear for his sanity. That much unwarranted zeal in one person was practically dangerous, and as such, Bashir toyed with the idea of recommending Beria was restricted to quarters. . . purely for health reasons, of course.  
  
He suggested this to Dax, who merely sent him one of those dazzling grins.  
  
"Oh, I thought you were handling him rather well. . . but, about Beria. . . there's something about Worf and I-"  
  
That was as far as she got, because a miniature earthquake staggered them both - it lasted only a second, and by that time they were clutching the rim of the nearest respective tabletops to keep their balance, and glancing around for the source of the disturbance. They weren't the only ones. Out near the bar, a certain barkeep let out a squawk of dismay at possibly the worst disaster in trade to strike him since the Occupation.  
  
:-//Don't you guys ever get to finish a thought around here?// The dragon slided away from the bar straight in to the faulty Dabo table.  
  
That did it; earthquakes, Dragons, security officers and faulty tables. When Quark died, which would be soon judging by that shockwave, he was going to file a formal complaint against the divine treasury.  
  
For her part, the Dragon stumbled, almost knocked over her escort - again - and yelped:  
  
:-//Wow! Brilliant! What was that?//  
  
Good grief, she was almost as bad as-  
  
Wait. What had happened to Beria?  
  
In the confusion of shattering glasses and varicoloured fluids toppling to the floor, an ideal mask for a getaway was presented. Beria had vanished.  
  
Dax tapped her combadge: "Ops, what's going on?"  
  
Major Kira's voice, sounding frustrated in the background of fizzing apparatus and computer systems, could give her no information - but whatever the origins of the blast, it had temporarily disabled their sensors: all of them, the huge and almost incalculable array that the station was equipped with - and her inquiry was not helped by the increasingly hysterical voice of Quark, demanding an explanation behind her.  
  
Until forcibly removed by Odo, that is.  
  
Meanwhile, the doctor was searching for any casualties with endearing assiduity - encountering only a couple of bruised arms, nothing more serious according to his tricorder - at least not with his biological patients. Unfortunately, his instrumentation had fared less well and the readings were behaving rather erratically. He dearly wished to know what was going on.  
  
Unfortunately. . .  
  
It was probably just as well that the Dragon alerted them to yet another problem - or a related one - they had unwittingly taken on board. Literally.  
  
:- //Where'd the fella' with two minds go? You know, the one the vet was talking to?//  
  
Bashir mustered some indignation at being called a vet, until the statement sank in.  
  
"What do you mean?" the rough voice of Odo interjected.  
  
:-// Oh *you* know, the one whose. . . hmm, I just noticed - same species as you, only with another guy underneath, kinda. And the one underneath's a different species. Like I said, two minds . . . well, okay, maybe not exactly two minds, but gimme a chance with the metaphor, okay, and-  
  
-uh: is that a problem?//  
  
"Like me?"  
  
They were in trouble. *No wait* Odo corrected himself.  
  
They were in deep trouble.  
  
It was an ingenious way to fool the DNA screening process, but that was a kind of ingenuity they all could have done without. Of course they had safeguards against changeling infiltration. The blood test was a reasonably reliable way of exposing them - so what better way to render it useless than by presenting the test with actual non-shapeshifter genetic material, whilst hiding somewhere on that person? They must have done something with the shields to mask the extra lifesigns - like killed the unfortunate host - or something.  
  
It occurred to Dax, Bashir and Odo, that it might be a bad idea to take anything the perpetually hyperactive Dragon said as fact. But on the other hand, coupling a possible infiltration with the recent tremor, conclusions had to be hastily reached - and transmitted to Ops.  
  
"Kira - we have a possible intruder- Beria. We think he might be a changeling."  
  
It was at that moment confirmation was reached as another voice entered the fray:  
  
"O'Brien here."  
  
"Wait a minute Dax: go ahead chief."  
  
"We have a problem down here - somebody's been tampering with the environmental controls and systems. That could have a few repercussions up there."  
  
Bashir chimed in: "Sabotage?"  
  
"Sabotage? That's a bit of a hasty conclusion to reach, isn't it?"  
  
Kira again: "No- chief, look, you'd better get up here, Dax had better explain what is going on and we need those systems back online!"  
  
Belatedly, much, much too belatedly, the trill science officer identified exactly what had been bothering her about the garrulous passenger of 'the explorer'. . . besides the obvious. She made a sharp move of realisation with her hand.  
  
"Of course - he's dead!"  
  
"Dead? Who's dead? Don't be ridiculous, how can he be dead when he's running around in the propul-. . . oh."  
  
"I mean, Beria died a few years ago - I knew there was something bothering me."  
  
A palpable influx of unvoiced, sardonic comments rent the air.  
  
And one not-so-sardonic one that they all ignored:  
  
://You mean he's a zombie?//  
  
"Why couldn't you have realised that before?"  
  
Dax pulled a face and mumbled "Well, y'know it's kinda hard to keep you with seven lifetimes. . ."  
  
A momentary pause, as various courses of action were worked out and he continued: "Security will have to be diverted into finding this 'intruder'."  
  
"I'll go back to and see if I can come up with something to test him when we do, shall I?"  
  
"Good idea. . . er, Dragon? You're with me, back to Ops again - Sisko still wants to see you, so this should kill two birds with one stone.  
  
:- //Birds? BIRDS? Does this mean I get to fly?//  
  
"We really need to introduce you to the holosuite," murmured Dax as they headed off. Quickly. But not quickly enough, because as they were moving. . .  
  
WHAAMM!  
  
Another earthquake, at least twice as high on the ritcher scale as its predecessor - yells of alarm were cut off as people hit the deck, the table, or the nearest obstacle - Dax spun round and grabbed the nearest doorway, clinging equally strongly to the wish that the Dragon would retain her tenuous balance. She wasn't the only one having difficulties, as somebody encountered a console - decorating its surroundings with white-hot sparks - the hard way, when the momentum generated by blast hurled him over the top.  
  
This time there was no mistaking the signature of weapons-fire.  
  
"Report!"  
  
Something was wrong with the lights, throwing the nerve-centre of the station into a dismal gloom punctuated by faint clouds of anaerobic gas and budding fires.  
  
From a voice unmistakeably deeper than Kira's, which meant Sisko was on the bridge, shouting commands above the hiss of said fire-extinguishing measures. The power of the pulse was unprecedented, for the damage inflicted on the station wasn't simply the result of any single shot - a multiple barrage had struck it simultaneously, in assorted areas. Sisko only hoped life-support was still functioning - evacuating the station to flee before an unknown enemy was not a good strategy.  
  
"O'Brien! What is going on?"  
  
"I'm on it. . ." a second of tinkering and re-routing "That should do the trick - we've got partial sensors back again."  
  
Finally, his efforts paid off - and everyone was left thinking, with the possible exception of the Dragon, that this was either a really bad dream, a really bad hallucination, a really bad simulation. . . or just another day facing impossible odds on Deep Space nine.  
  
"Where in the quadrant did they come from!?"  
  
The answer to Kira's shout was obvious.  
  
"The wormhole. They somehow managed, to get through the wormhole."  
  
An entire fleet of Dominion ships, to be exact.  
  
"Benjamin, how could they get through?"  
  
"I don't know, but that isn't the issue right now." He stared at the viewscreen, nostrils flared as if sheer unblinking helplessness and a large portion of equally helpless rage could drive them off. What had happened? If the failsafe of the wormhole had been breached, then they could count their days as residents of the alpha quadrant on the fingers of one humanoid hand.  
  
  
  
And, just what they didn't need, although it wouldn't make much difference to the outcome of the commencing battle, they got another distraction curtesy of Beria.  
  
". . . Y-Y-Yaaaaah!"  
  
In a creditable display of athleticism, Beria hurdled the nearest console before colliding with one of the pursuind security officers. To be correct, Beria wasn't precisely Beria anymore but two separate entities, neither of whom looked like him, and only one of whom was at this moment stomping over the control panels with a grim-faced security officer on his tail.  
  
And, as if things needed to be livened up, half the station's systems were off-line thanks to 'Beria's' undercover ministrations, with most of remainder discharging electricity into the atmosphere or the nearest innocent bystander.  
  
Which was why, when Sisko found himself one moment in Ops on Deep Space Nine and the next in a poor, slightly blurry and foggy, rendition of Quark's bar, without having taken a step. Having realised what the misty atmosphere and the eerie mystical music was precluding to, he shouted:  
  
"I don't have time for this! Put me back!"  
  
It was, of course, vision from the Prophets - or wormhole aliens, depending on your point of view.  
  
Since Sisko's point of view was, at this particular moment, on top of a Dabo table whilst elsewhere his station was disintegrating under the assault of however many hundred enemy vessels were surrounding it, he was understandable seething with frustration.  
  
There was a subtle difference, however between this vision and the others Sisko, as the Emissary, had received: for once, the scenario granted him was totally depopulated. Nobody in sight. As the Prophets to communicate, generally manifested as people he knew, this was decidedly unusual.  
  
In fact, the only sign of life was a sort of background humming noise that didn't fit in with the eerie music.  
  
As Sisko concentrated on the discording hum, it rewarded him by seemingly increasing it volume.  
  
". . . please stand by. . . we are experiencing some minor technical difficulties right now. . . services will resume shortly. . . please stand by. . ." Repeated a smooth female voice.  
  
Sisko stained to hear another voice which sounded sufficiently irritated, he didn't interpret the infuriatingly vague information, although he did catch something that sounded like 'Bloody Y2K bug' and 'you'd think the mee- len-nee-um bug would happen *on* the millennium but nooo!'.  
  
The interlude abruptly ended, he found himself looking at the ceiling and several members of his crew and the disturbingly close sharp teeth of the dragon - apparently that was because he was flat on his back, having collapsed during the episode. As he crawled on to his feet, he absently noted that someone had missed a patch on the ceiling.  
  
The Prophets were 'experiencing some minor technical difficulties'.  
  
Minor technical difficulties?  
  
*Minor technical difficulties?!*  
  
If time wasn't linear, and, as the Prophets so often claimed, they knew all about the timeline past, present and future, why hadn't they foreseen *this*?  
  
More to the point, how, lacking a prophet-given miracle, were they going to repel this kind of force? For that matter, why hadn't they already been obliterated into particles smaller than a subatomic photon?  
  
A subatomic photon, that doesn't even exist.  
  
Could this assault be some kind of hologram?  
  
"Chief, can you scan the ships for any kind of holographic energy?"  
  
"I'm on it, commander."  
  
  
  
  
  
O'brien was still scanning when the assault suddenly cease. Everybody was desperately thinking up long strings of scientific jargon; in the hopes of formulating from it, the usual sort of delusional, risky, insane idea that would help extricate them from this mess, when the viewscreen blipped, bubbled and burbled into life.  
  
  
  
They were facing a very strange-looking Weyoun-type clone.  
  
Not that he was physically any different from the rest of his clones - well, they were supposed to be identical, weren't they? - But he was dressed entirely in black, was staring disconsolately at the screen, and was making, totally out of character with his fellow clones, no effort to gloat.  
  
The silence of Ops was disturbed by the struggling mass of security officers and their prisoner that spilled out of the turbolift. They came to a halt, where; on closer inspection, showed another made-up Weyoun with what looked like a wig and costume from some sort of ancient earth-history period drama, being restrained on the floor by a team of desperate security officers. Having formerly been known as 'Beria', he wrenched his head around to grin excitedly up at the screen.  
  
"H-h-hi, how're you doing - th-this incredible, I a-actually got cap-capt - taken by the enemy! Is-isn't this brill-l-liant?" he babbled. His excitement was obviously affecting his speech centre.  
  
The depressed-looking Vorta sniffed and made a half-hearted attempt at lifting his hand. Too great for him, the effort subsided.  
  
"Uh."  
  
"Oh, it l-l-looks like you're in need of a-aliittle cheering up. . ."  
  
His sour-faced counterpart made a face, as if he knew what was coming, "No. . . it dosen't"  
  
'Beria' smiled knowingly "Oh. . . yes, you do!"  
  
The Vorta scowled at him, sarcastically mimicking "Oh. . . no, I don't"  
  
"I know exactly what you need, some warm milk and cookies and a good ol' fashion hug. . ."  
  
He walked up to a nearby console that held an image of his moaning look- alike, and hugged it.  
  
People glanced back and forth between the obviously mentally unbalanced aliens like spectators in a tennis match. The bewildered security officers were shrugging in consternation.  
  
Kira, however, was in favor of direct action and mimed tying a gag round the talkative mouth - or was that neck? - in the background, but, on the other hand , if keeping the deranged euphoric Vorta babbling on at the screen was the only thing preventing his mournful equal from firing on the station further, then it was a decidedly good thing. . .  
  
It wasn't.  
  
The black-clad Vorta manage to summon the energy to turn and face the Ops crew fully. His dejected expression complemented his mourning robes perfectly.  
  
Garak, their resident tailor-cum-Obsidian-order-outcast, would have been impressed.  
  
He arched an eyebrow and said, "Please. Shut him up. I don't care how you do it. Just make it happen."  
  
It wasn't Federation policy to comply with the enemy, but in this case, well, this overly joyful Vorta would tax a Bolian's patience.  
  
As nonplussed as the others by the exchange, the dragon seemed inclined to intervene.  
  
"//Ahem. Allow me.//"  
  
And by whatever trick of manipulation of the space-time continuum, she transported the manic vorta on Ops directly to the brig, much to the relief of the harassed security officers, and the surprise to his cell-mates.  
  
By now, Worf, disgruntled and tight-lipped at the best of times, was reaching his own breaking point. "What is the point of this communication? We are *supposed* to be at war!"  
  
Even a furious Klingon wasn't going to get an intelligent response from the Vorta, who, now that his hyper opposite had been dispatched, had presently used up his supply of enthusiastic monosyllables for the day.  
  
"Uh. Whatever"  
  
Incredulously, Sisko asked "Are you meant to be negotiating some kind of treaty with the Federation?"  
  
It seemed as though the Vorta was going to ignore him, instead he thought for a moment before replying. "You know, I really can't be bothered to distroy you, I mean that requies me to give orders and that requires me to give some sort of effort. I've had a really bad. . . however long it was we were stuck in that. . . tunnel thingy. . . you know, the big blue thing. . . and I have to put up with *him* all the time" He sighed, heavily. "I just really can't be . . ." He trailed off and closed his eyes briefly before resuming. ". . . but since you insist. . ." he raise his hands in a pathetic gesture of menace "Agh. . . we *are* evil. *Evil*. . . like. . . *really* evil, *bad* . . . people. . . and we are gonna. . . *evilly*. . . be---"  
  
At this point, a grey, slightly scaly-looking hand snagged the depressing spokesman by the neck of his black cloak and yanked him off the screen. "Whoa!"  
  
He was replaced by a distinctly sheepish-looking Jem'hadar first.  
  
"We'll be right back in just a second!" He forced a grin and cut the transmisson.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile they had a shapeshifter to deal with.  
  
Odo was checking Quark's bar to that effect: he hadn't spotted anything out of place but that didn't tell him anything he wanted to know except that the infiltrator knew how to imitate an bottle of alcohol. Maybe not a bottle, because the floor here was still canted at an angle and the gravity here was skewed, risking any nearby bottle to be smashed into smithereens. It was quite a health hazard for passer-bys; a single shot in this environment and you'd have to take cover under the closest table to dodge the  
  
unidentifiable flying condiments. And at any moment, they might all cease to exist anyway, vaporised by a volley from the enemy.  
  
Of course, Odo thought to himself, the upside being Quark was going to have to spend a *really* long time cleaning up his premises. That should prevent him from getting embroiled with any other criminal activities for a while. Odo indulged himself in a small smile, before he set upon the task of seeking out his target.  
  
  
  
At first, what had happened involved staring at the viewscreen at the Vorta again, who had resumed his conversation. Such as it was.  
  
As usual, O'Brien was working frantically to divert all power to the weapons array, but it was going to take some time to re-route all the jumbled systems. It looked like 'Beria' had tried to arrange the files so they spelled the anagram: 'Hello! Greetings from your friendly neighbourhood conqueror.'- and then run out of time. He hadn't done a very good job either, because it actually spelt: 'H-hi! Fello feet goers ring on our only nerdquery or dig. com, ooh!'  
  
By this time, Dax had joined O'Brien at the console, while Sisko was shouting for reports down the comline.  
  
The Jem'Hadar warriors had evidently abandoned trying to give their unhinged Vorta a pep-talk and were shrugging at each other in the background, which they had been doing for about five minutes before the Vorta actually slumped back into action again.  
  
"Oh. You're still here. Well I'm not going to fire. . . I never wanted to be the right hand man of the most evil species from the Gamma Quadrant who want to take over all of the alpha-quadrant and turn its populace into their slaves anyway. I always wanted to be a lumberjack. . ."  
  
They didn't seem to be in immediate danger.  
  
Kira turned to Worf. "If we can keep him from firing on us we can get reinforcements here in time."  
  
But Worf was baffled. "Why is he not fighting us?"  
  
"Just keep him talking! We have to try and get a message through."  
  
It was probably not the most intelligent option to assign Worf the task of conversationalist. Not that he couldn't improvise one when he wanted, but. . .  
  
Kira got to work on the communications systems. They were being jammed, as expected, but if she could somehow penetrate the jamming frequencies and launch a message into subspace, then they could get help. But before she could begin, another comlink blinked at her.  
  
"Security to Ops." The first thing she noticed was the panicked tone of address. Had half the prisoners broken out of their holding cells after Beria's little stunt with the DS9's controls? That was all they needed.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
A fuzzy visual appeared on the console.  
  
"We need backup!"  
  
"Backup? What happened?"  
  
"It's the prisoner! He's talking us to death!"  
  
In the background, sure enough, babbled the relentless yammering of the criminally insane Beria. A conduit blew its fuse on the walls, silhouetting the speaker against a radiant waterfall of malfunctioning equipment and there was a sound of creaking as a strut near the wall gravitated away from its moorings.  
  
"We're losing structural integrity down here! Its- its Beria - he's unstoppable!"  
  
Abruptly, the link cut out.  
  
With a flash of inspiration, Major Kira contacted sickbay. If the worst came to the worst, they could always get a science officer to soundproof the walls, or Bashir to use ventilation to send some airborn anaesthetic into the cells, although he might protest against the ethics and risks of gassing the prisoners' different physiologies. Meanwhile, they had to get some more information on Beria's. . . whatever you called it. Their SOS to Starfleet would have to wait in the hands of the anonymous, interchangeable ensigns who appeared so conveniently on request to carry out weird and wonderful orders. Strangely enough, however, there had been a shortage of them lately . . . so she had to leave it with Nog, who was frantically working at a station the other side of Ops, and was probably making the situation worse.  
  
Kira returned to Worf's station, hoping against hope that some sort of level of reasonable discussion had been reached between them. It was a vain hope: their communication had degenerated into a staring contest which Worf was winning, mainly because the apathetic Vorta hadn't summoned the energy not to blink every few seconds. Kira respected the Klingon as a fine example of a tactical officer, but very occasionally his Klingon impulses got the better of him.  
  
"Hah! You are a coward! There is no honour in surrounding a helpless enemy!"  
  
The Vorta pouted, at the same time managing to look utterly disconsolate.  
  
"Oh. well. I'm not particularly bothered. But I can't be stuffed to argue with you." He sighed, gathering his energies. "Fire."  
  
And that was why everybody had to cling to the nearest solid object as DS9 was once more subjected to the punishing blasts.  
  
://-Worf, what were you thinking?//. The Dragon looked at the Klingon with confusion. The crew didn't want to be fired upon yet they'd allowed this man to goad the apathy-loving vorta into attacking.  
  
Despite the fact that everybody else in Ops was either panicking or unconscious, or possibly both, the dragon shook her head slowly from side to side, tutting in resigned amusement. Amusement that was quickly supplanted with surprise, then an evil grin, which was made all the more intimidating by that overgrown dentition.  
  
:- //Ooh! Gotta go! Q's back!//  
  
Nog ran after the dragon in protest, gesticulating wildly.  
  
Which left Sisko and the others to cope with their impending destruction. It had not been a good day.  
  
  
  
  
  
Some poor red shirted ensign hurtled into him with confused intent halfway across the promenade, after yet another barrage of enemy fire. And then hurtled right through him with a yelp of extreme surprise, as Odo had altered his physical composition to prevent himself from being splattered by some flying debris.  
  
Unfortunately this did nothing to help the ensign as he crashed into the wall behind them and ricocheted off like a steel bearing in some huge pinball machine.  
  
It seemed that every time the station deck shook from the weapons fire, there were more people playing dodge ball.  
  
Then, something caught his attention. His first thought was that he had seen a) someone he'd arrested, i.e. Quark, or b) Kira, but no. The unusual detail he picked up on was that there was someone rushing on the promenade in the complete opposite direction of the crowd, and he didn't seem to be losing his balance and staggering like a drunkard every few seconds. Magnetised boots? Someone with an obscure mental ability that allowed them to levitate?  
  
Or . 


	8. Jam Jars and Soap Bubbles

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//  
  
  
  
Part 8: Jam Jars and Soap Bubbles . . .  
  
The whoever-it-was turned, saw the incoming security officer, and dove for the nearest jefferies tube. The fact that this was on the gantry opposite, suspended six metres above the promenade didn't seem to bother the man: he simply jumped over the railings, transformed in mid air into some sort of weird avian lifeform, and then flapped for it.  
  
Well, he'd found the changeling.  
  
  
  
  
  
The dragon settled herself on her really big pillow. She'd had to materialise it when it became apparent the stupid humanoids hadn't taken in account for tails when they made this place. . . the whole place was screwy! *//What kind of universe has only one kind of gravitational pull?//*  
  
Then the gravity fluctuated and sent Quark spinning halfway across the room, still shrieking at ear-splitting pitch. One of the walls obligingly swapped with its opposite counterpart - he crashed into the bar counter and clung onto the rim. A wise precaution, depending on how you looked at it, because seconds later the change reversed and the wall turned into a ceiling to which he was clinging onto for dear life. From the ferengi's point of view, which was down, it was more vertigo-inducing.  
  
More screaming.  
  
:-// Ah, normal gravity at last. . .//  
  
Q looked a little queasy at the listing floor, but was more interested in wrangling with the dragon about what value to assign the aces. Sisko had managed to anchor himself to a bolted-down barstool, as had Dax. Everyone else was strewn about the floor/wall.  
  
And of course, Quark was hanging from the ceiling, screaming.  
  
"Quark! You're not helping!"  
  
He shut up of his own accord when a certain disgruntled-looking individual rushed in to intercept for the other changeling, last seen heading here. Instead, he found Quark hanging off something which  
  
"Odo! Help! Get me down!"  
  
If only he had just let him dangle.  
  
"THAT'S IT!!" Q shouted to no-one in particular.  
  
"What's it?" The Dragon, perfectly at ease on her pillowed perched, peered at him. "You *do* realize you are taking on a distintly. blue tint, don't you?"  
  
He glared her, "It's aqua! Anyway I feel seasick!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
A violent rocking hit the station, Q held up his hands. "Could it be .THAT??!"  
  
He clicked his fingers and the station righted itself.  
  
"Aww! Just as the gravity was gettin' good!" the Dragon protested.  
  
  
  
  
  
In Ops, they were operating on a skeleton crew of two senior members and a scattering of cadets. They were all in combat mode right now, as Worf shouted:  
  
"Incoming torpedo in three, two, one: brace for impact!"  
  
Hands clamped around the nearest object, which on second look turned out to be somebody's arm, Kira substituted the arm for a console, and tensed.  
  
Nothing.  
  
A little less certain now, Worf repeated: "Brace for impact?"  
  
  
  
A couple of indeterminate blurs streaked across Ops: nobody paid them any attention. Using Ops as a surrogate gymnasium was becoming commonplace and besides, they were all too busy looking at the viewscreen, although a couple of ensigns quickly held up their placards made for just such a contingency: 5.8 and 6.9. Not bad.  
  
  
  
Furthest away, a backdrop of star-studded space, with the electric blue cauliflower of the wormhole superimposed on it. Then, rank after rank of enemy spacecraft. Fair enough, unless you happened to be on the losing side.  
  
What they hadn't been expecting was the fact that the missile seemed to be decelerating. Then stopping entirely for a frozen moment. Faint lines like stress marks on a stretched sheet of transparent plastic wobbled against the nose of the missile, as two forces pushed against each other. They were in the middle of a battle, so now wasn't the time to suffer from visual hallucinations, but the crew's anticipation was almost tangible as the missile, with a faintly-audible twang that somehow managed mysteriously to cross thousands of metres of vacuum, lost its fight. In that moment, there was nothing more satisfying than seeing an enemy attack repelled by the spacefaring equivalent of a rubber band.  
  
  
  
Neeeeeeooow. . .  
  
The shot had, quite literally, backfired.  
  
The misguided missile catapaulted back at the ship in the Dominion fleet which had fired it: from Ops, Kira could see the surrounding armada shuffling away from their neighbour with remarkable alacricity, leaving the lone ship not even enough time to think: 'What did I do?' before it detonated.  
  
"What, by the prophets, is that thing?"  
  
'I am not sure. . ." He glowered over his tactical station for a minute. "There appears to be some kind of force-field surrounding the station."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Sensors show it consists of a fatty acid and alkali composite. . ."  
  
His deep voice changed from angry to disbelieving halfway through the sentence.  
  
"Are you telling me it's a soap bubble?"  
  
  
  
". . . Get down from there. I'm taking you into custody." Odo growled.  
  
The other shapeshifter clung obstinately to the ceiling of the cargo-bay where Odo had finally managed to corner him. Time to try for a little hostage negotiation. The problem was, it had never been his strongpoint, and he wasn't sure if it came down to a wrestling match with another changeling that he could win. Of course, having your phaser trained on your opponent was always a big advantage. . . it usually helped persuade them down from the conduit/jefferies tube/cubby hole/wherever they were, but this infiltrator was stubborn, had disguised himself as the ceiling, and was refusing to come down.  
  
  
  
So basically Odo was trying to keep the changeling occupied until he could manoeuvre into a better position, and get a clearer angle for a stun. He hadn't thought the spy would actually growl back at him, which wasn't the brightest course of action since it allowed him to pinpoint his position exactly.  
  
  
  
"Oh, you think you're so superior, don't you? Just because you were sent here in one of those special limited edition duranium canisters!"  
  
It sounded like he'd been nursing this grudge for some time.  
  
"What are you talking about? No I don't."  
  
"Oh, sure. Just because I got arrived in the Alpha quadrant as a-."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"You'll laugh."  
  
"No I won't."  
  
"A jamjar."  
  
"?" Odo struggled for composure. He had had plenty of practice in cultivating this air of rigid aloofness, luckily, because if he cracked up into a heap on the floor, the prisoner would escape.  
  
"Yes! The founders had to conserve their resources for the coming war. So they-. . . Oh, the humiliation."  
  
Odo hoped this wouldn't become one of those awkward scenarios where he had to play the role of comforter. Badly. Especially not to somebody he was arresting.  
  
"Look. Come down from there and we can discuss this at your holding cell."  
  
It wasn't the most tactful thing to say. He couldn't see the changeling very well, but he got the impression that a small section of the ceiling had stiffened in indignant outrage.  
  
"Holding cell? Holding cell? As if I were a common criminal! Hah! This is what I say to your holding cell!"  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Actually I can't think of anything to say to your holding cell."  
  
Stalemate. It would have remained stalemate indefinitely, had not the station given a sudden judder. It wasn't like the short, sharp vibration of a direct hit - again - but was more like somebody had just spun the gravity so it seemed to be pulling him towards the side as well as the floor. This was sufficient to dislodge the changeling on the ceiling - but it was also sufficient to knock Odo sideways as well, giving the shapeshifter time to run off.  
  
  
  
Disentangling himself off from some of the pylons at one end of the room with exasperated slowness, Odo really, really wished the com-system was back online so he could pressgang a security team into helping him catch the perpetrator. And then he set off again - not helped by the way gravity suddenly resurrected its former self seconds later, although it did allow him to perform an impressive set of somersaults in mid-air. . .  
  
  
  
  
  
Face a mask of dismay, Quark surveyed the ruined tableaux of his bar amidst piles of broken crockery. The dragon, Q and those not busy. . . examining. . . the soap bubble had gathered here. They were still in contact with the bemused people in Ops - apparently, in desperation, some of the Jem'hadar were trying to improvise some makeshift offensive measures, including some sort of space detergent, which was completely ineffective. A few more pioneering ships had the ingenuity to manufacture an antimatter bubble- buster, to no avail. It greatly resembled a giant pin. It also kept on inexplicably rotating before they could pierce the bubble and going after the nearest vessel. To their credit, they kept trying, but after the havoc that six antimatter bubble-poppers wrought on the hapless fleet, they were too busy diving out of the way.  
  
There were some quiet sniggers at the sight of a warships dashing across the viewscreen, pursued by the intractable stinger, although nobody owned up to them - it wasn't part of the published Starfleet philosophy to collapse into hysterics every time one of the Dominions ploys backfired. Although it did make for good entertainment.  
  
  
  
But basically Q's bubble-field had them reach a stalemate. Nobody dared fire out, in case it upset the ridiculous but effective mechanism, and nobody could fire in at them.  
  
And meanwhile the omnipotent nuisance was challenging the dragon to some sort of game, over Quark's wails of protest - some of which were concerned with his faulty Dabo table, which, despite all the odds, had survived the firefight but was still biased in the wrong direction, and therefore useless. With Sisko, Nog, Dax, O'Brien and Bashir in audience, somebody had to take notice of him eventually. They couldn't ignore a screaming ferengi forever, could they?  
  
Well, they were giving it their best shot, as all five were drawn into a heated argument over what to play, and whether to play it at all. In Quark's opinion, Q and the dragon were going to settle this regardless of the crew's reasoning, their actions being determined by a higher form of logic, otherwise known as nonsense. In Quark's opinion, they should sit back and try to gain something from the situation - such as offering the duelling pair a suitable setting for the, uh, card game that would be written down in legend, and maybe bargaining for indefinite use of the 'soap bubble' to repel the would-be invaders currently trying to find a way to annihalate Deep Space nine, until they could figure out how to replicate, patent and sell the technology for a profit. But the holosuites were down, and as usual, nobody was listening to his ideas.  
  
  
  
Suddenly the com system sizzled to silence in mid-chuckle: someone was still laughing over the fate of a misguided spacecraft trying to flee the pointy end of their antimatter creation at time of breakdown. What now?  
  
  
  
The two superbeings ignored this inconvenience.  
  
:-//Snap!//  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, my poor, misguided reptile. Something with a little more. . . flair." A click of the fingers, and Q was the scarlet-clad matador complete with red cloak and the set of rules for some obscure form of rummy, which had little or nothing to do with Spain.  
  
"Will you both be quiet for a second!" and then to O'Brien: "Can you get the com system up and running again?"  
  
"I'm on it."  
  
Q and the dragon ignored them, too, and Dax when she tried for some reverse psychology:  
  
"Maybe we should leave them to it."  
  
Bashir didn't catch on: "We can't! We're in the middle of a battle, and what happens if that. . . alkali composite gives way?"  
  
:-//Soap bubble. It's a soap bubble//. The dragon interjected, staring pityingly at the doctor.  
  
Odo would have exited the bar again, but an influx of rather bedraggled looking officers forestalled the changeling. Kira, Worf and the others had trooped in - still strangely bereft of accompanying ensigns - because the environmental controls in Ops had gone haywire and sprayed the lot of them with semi-frozen coolant out of spite, and they wanted to know:  
  
"What the hell is going on?!"  
  
It was getting crowded in here by now, and with all the conflicting queries rebounding across the room, and everybody firmly attached to the nearest fixture in case the gravity shuddered again, nobody had a clue what was going on, so Kira's question was futile. She was searching for Sisko, while Worf laboriously swung past the barstools to talk to Dax - but then the dragon's telepathic announcement cut everybody off.  
  
//"Hey everybody! We've decided on what to play! Okay? Then LET THE BATTLE COMMENCE!"//  
  
The game they had finally agreed upon was poker.  
  
  
  
Far above them. well, okay, on the second floor. . . eyes were watching.  
  
To be more accurate, the entire railing around the promenade was staring at the proceedings with disbelief.  
  
It wasn't, of course, really a railing. The two eye-stalks protruding from the metal were a dead giveaway. It looked like half the population of deep space nine was assembled, along with dragon, various aliens, Q and associated spatial disturbances, on the promenade below.  
  
The changeling had an idea. It was a dangerous idea, and would involve some morphing, but-. . .  
  
  
  
So it was agreed, they were going to play poker.  
  
The dragon scan through her pad of card game rules and brushed up her rules. "Okay, says here we need a pack of card. . ."  
  
Q looked at the cards in his hands, then at the various members of the crew, back at the cards, then the crew, cards, crew, . . .cards, . . .crew, . . .cards, . . .crew. . . his face split into an evil grin and he click his fingers. The cards disappeared, followed closely by the crew.  
  
A larger pack cards reappeared in his hands, the backs of the cards were blue with the federation symbol. The Dragon glowered at him, arms folded in an expectant pose. "Okay, I'll bite. Where are they?"  
  
He grinned at her, "Who, prey tell?"  
  
She jerked her head to the now vacant space. "Them."  
  
"Them? Oh, you must mean the THEM, THEY, the people recognisable only as deja'vu." he click his fingers again and several men dressed entirely in black appeared. The Dragon grimaced. "That was cheap, really, really cheap!"  
  
Q chuckled, "I know, I know." The men disappeared again.  
  
"So, where are they?"  
  
Q shuffled the pack and dealt a card to her, she picked it up. It was the king of spacestations, Sisko. "GET ME OUTTA HERE!!! Q!!! MUMMERTREORYDRAGON WHAT EVER YOUR NAME IS DO SOMETHING!!!!"  
  
The Dragon looked up at Q, "That also was very cheap, not totally unfunny but very cheap none the less!" She sighed and snapped her claws and restored the crew.  
  
Worf stepped menacingly towards Q with the obvious intent of slaughtering him, Sisko, Kira, Odo, Bashir, Dax and O'Brien had to leap on the enraged Klingon before he leap on the omnipotent being and tried to rip him into shreds.  
  
The Dragon looked at the padd again, "Okay we got cards. . ." she materialise another pack, ". . . now we need some thing to wager with. . . the rule suggests chips of some kind. . ."  
  
"Why don't we make this interesting and make it a no limit wagering game, huh?"  
  
Somebody groaned in trepidation. . . 


	9. Plotholes Never Happen on Deep Space Nin...

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
//the dragon's thinking/speaking//  
  
  
  
  
  
Part 9: Plotholes Never Happen on Deep Space Nine . . .  
  
Far above them . . . well, okay, on the second floor. . . eyes were watching.  
  
To be more accurate, the entire railing around the promenade was staring at the proceedings with disbelief.  
  
It wasn't, of course, really a railing. The two eye-stalks protruding from the metal were a dead giveaway. It looked like half the population of deep space nine was assembled, along with dragon, various aliens, Q and associated spatial disturbances, on the promenade below.  
  
The changeling had an idea. It was a dangerous idea, and would involve some morphing, but-. . .  
  
  
  
Why was he here?  
  
Why?  
  
He was bored, he was bad at this, he wasn't particularly interested in this.  
  
He had a creepy double on that station, which he wasn't particularly obsessing about getting back.  
  
What was wrong with him? Didn't he see that life wasn't worth it? What was the point of his sunshiny happiness?  
  
Weyoun sighed deeply.  
  
"I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life"  
  
He summoned the energy to look at the scene before him.  
  
The Jem'hadar first was juggling some canisters of white. The second stood on his head, singing something about being the very model of a modern major general.  
  
BRRRRRRT . . ..BRRRRRRT  
  
Weyoun pressed the button to respond to the hail.  
  
Oh.  
  
Great.  
  
A Starfleet admiral.  
  
"Whadda ya want?" he moaned at the screen.  
  
The Admiral glared at him with the typical Starfleet defiance, chin tilted upward and his crew surrounding him, looking loyal and efficient. Gezz, don't they look chipper!  
  
He was sick of people like that.  
  
The Admiral stepped forward. "We want to know if you want to discuss terms of surrender."  
  
Weyoun managed a smirk and with the encouragement of the jem'hadar in front of him, he produced his first truly evil remark.  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm . . .no."  
  
  
  
  
  
Catrey Negt paced her cell, she'd done some wrong things in her life, used her powers as a Komaloide to con people out of their possessions but did she really deserve to be in this cell with some freakish dominion agent . . . "C-c-come on . . . y-you know wh-what it is . . . wh-what's big, got three walls and an invisible one?"  
  
"I don't . . .THE BRIG! For crying out loud!! Leave me alone! Guards? Guards!! This is cruel and unusual punishment!! GUARDS!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ensign Ronaele Htims winced at the screeching of the komaloide, her sensitive half-Vulcan hearing was been assaulted by the sounds emanating from the holding cell.  
  
They'd call Ops several times for assistance but after a while the staff up there refused to answer.  
  
She decide to do something about the incessant talking of the Vorta, surely her captain wouldn't reprimand her from using the Vulcan neck pinch to save the sanity of the staff and prisoners. Besides logic dictated that the peace of the security of the station was at stake and the mere subduing of a manic clone didn't seem so much of a sacrifice.  
  
She walked into the holding area, intent on her goal. The prisoner Catrey Negt was now gesturing emphatically with her hands, her short boy-styled hair bobbed with every jerk of her head. "Oi . . .But . . .get . . .mmm . . .ahgh!!" she snapped, "AGHA!!! KILL . . .KILLL!!!"  
  
Ronaele Htims raise a single eyebrow, arching it in what she hoped was a perfect imitation of her mentor, Tuvok. "Miss Negt, I would not suggest such a course of action with such an illogical conclusion."  
  
Dropping the force field, the half-Vulcan stepped calmly into the cell. Unfortunately, she didn't count on the hectic genetic copy bursting forth and running away before she could do anything.  
  
"Htims to security, we have an escapee . . ."  
  
"Oh great so he gets to escape . . .I get to . . ." Catrey Negt shut up and blew a lock of her hair off her forehead as Ronaele Htims pressed her middle finger and thumb together.  
  
"Shushup!"  
  
  
  
  
  
Meanwhile in Quark's bar . . .  
  
A strange rumbling noise occurred while the Dragon and Q peered at their cards, she looked up at him and glared. "Stop it, you're putting me off!"  
  
He shrugged "Sorry, it's just I think it would be nice if we had some snacks about . . .you know, some comfort food for you to indulge in when I whup your can at this game."  
  
She smirked, "You're delusional, I'll put it down to your lack of nutrition."  
  
"So, are we gonna eat something or are you gonna go on and on forever?"  
  
"Yeah, sure, whatever . . ." The Dragon moved a card from one side of her hand to the other. Q clicked his fingers and a dish of various snacks appeared beside him and a small bowl of pellets by the Dragon. She peered down imperiously at them, unimpressed, she looked pointedly at Q, arching an eyebrow in question.  
  
Q looked at her in bemusement, and in his hand appeared a box. It had a picture of her on the front, grinning ridiculously, he read from it: -" Q's ol' fashioned Dragon pellets, healthy and choke full of Dragon goodness, specifically designed to give your dragon a healthy, shiny coat and strong teeth!"  
  
The Dragon picked up the bowl, sniffed it and threw it over her shoulder. "Yuck! That's what I think over your screwy pellets!"  
  
There was a small squeak of protest emitted from Quark. "Uh, you realise you'll have to clear that up!"  
  
The Dragon sighed. "Okay."  
  
She clicked her claws and a small hole in the space-time continuum, the very fabric of space, appeared.  
  
The pellets were very quickly sucked into the hole.  
  
Sisko panicked. "Is that thing dangerous?"  
  
"Nah, we'll be using it to put our rubbish in, rather than littering your pretty station." The Dragon replied.  
  
Q leaned towards her and whispered wickedly, "Have you even seen this bucket of bolts from the outside? It looks like two three-legged spiders mashed together on their heads!"  
  
She whispered back. "I know but it's best not to tell the poor saps . . ."  
  
  
  
Ensign Nir Aimless twiddled with his traditional earring, before turning to his friend, Ensign Ann Nonamous. "Wow!" he exclaimed, "Will ya look at that thing? It's an actually hole in the time-space continuum!"  
  
"Space-time continuum." She corrected. She moved toward it, waving a tricorder at it.  
  
"Hey! Where are you going?" he called after her.  
  
She glance back, "I just wanna know how it --". She didn't get a chance to finish because the hole sucked her in with a loud slurping noise.  
  
"Ann!" He ran over to the hole, which promptly sucked him in too.  
  
  
  
A few moments later, Nog noticed he was the only red shirted ensign left in the bar. He swung round to Jake, who had decided to watch the game. "Jake!" he tugged at the writer's sleeve. "Jake!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Have you noticed all the ensigns have disappeared?"  
  
Jake looked around before replying, "No they haven't, see there's a few, up there."  
  
Nog glanced up, "Okay, but they're from security and medical support . . .there aren't any red shirts!"  
  
"Were there any ensigns here to start with?"  
  
"Yes, there was Ensign Nir Aimless, Ensign Ann Nonamous, Ensign Walker Deadman, Ensign Evan Bound, Ensign X. Pendable . . ."  
  
Jake held up his hand and sniggered "Wait, wait, wait, *expendable*? There's an ensign that's *expendable*?"  
  
"Yeah . . . I mean NO! Xanthia Pendable, she's a good friend of mine."  
  
"Okay, I'm kidding . . . who else is missing?"  
  
"Umm . . . let me see, Ensign I. Van Esher, Ensign Kanu Helpme and Ensign Harriet Anne-loste, they were all here a moment ago and then they vanished . . . Ensign Harriet Anne-loste said something about looking at that hole over there . . . "  
  
Nog wandered over to have a look. Just by the opening of the hole, there was a discarded tricorder, still on active scan. Nog moved closer, to investigate the phenomena when it happened . . .  
  
Nog was sucked into . . .  
  
Something . . . he didn't know what but it wasn't good . . .  
  
Jake saw this happen and immediately rushed over to see if he could pull his friend back from the . . . hole-rip-in-space-time-hole-thing!!!  
  
He turned to his father, "Dad!! Nog and a couple of ensigns just got sucked into . . . whatever this hole is!"  
  
Sisko reacted with shock, "Nog?!"  
  
"Uh-huh . . . and some ensigns!"  
  
Everybody looked at the rubbish hole, and most murmured something like "Poor Nog".  
  
Jake looked around, "What about the red shirted ensigns?"  
  
Sisko's face blanked, "What red shirted ensigns?"  
  
Jake stared at his father uncomprehendingly, "Huh? The what-shirted whats?"  
  
Sisko shrugged and turned to the Dragon and Q who were now shuffling their cards again. "What is that thing?"  
  
Q replied over his shoulder, "Oh, it's just a plot- " the Dragon kicked him.  
  
"What?!" he said, irritated. "Oh, yeah, can't have those, they 'don't exist on Deep Space Nine', it's just you average worm-black-hole-spatial- anomaly."  
  
Suddenly everyone's attention turn back to the worm-black-hole- spatial- anomaly, which had begun to gurgle discontentedly. Up on the second floor of the bar, an ensign from security shouted: "Holy worm-black-plot-hole- spatial-anomaly-hole-rip-in-space-time-hole-thing!!!" only to be silenced, by a quick jab to the ribs by Lieutenant Bateman.  
  
The hole wobbled and gurgled some more before finally burping and regurgitated Ensign Nog, who landed with an "Oomph!".  
  
Jake kneeled beside him, "Nog? Are you okay?"  
  
Nog could only nod his status before the hole burped again and a scrunched up piece of paper followed.  
  
Jake reached over and opened it up. "What does it say, Jake?" inquired O'Brien.  
  
Jake cleared his throat and read: "PLEASE STOP THROWING YOUR USELESS ENSIGNS INTO OUR DIMENSION! WE HAVE ENOUGH, THANK YOU!".  
  
Of course, the two powerful poker-players were completely oblivious to these shenanigans as they began to settle down to place their bets.  
  
  
  
  
  
'Beria' hurtled down the corridors, enjoying a good game of tag with the very nice Starfleet security officers.  
  
Hee hee.  
  
They all looked very determined and grim. Maybe they needed to be cheered up.  
  
He would have stopped and given them all a great big group hug.  
  
But then he'd be put back in the brig.  
  
Where he couldn't make everybody happy.  
  
Then he got an idea. He'd sing for them.  
  
Taking a deep breathe and he began sing to them over his shoulder as he made his escape.  
  
"Oh, you, pretty, chitty, chitty, bang, bang,  
  
Chitty, chitty, bang, bang,  
  
We love you,  
  
And our pretty, chitty, chitty, bang, bang,  
  
Chitty, chitty, bang, bang loves us too,"  
  
He skidded, and zigged zagged his way passed a few cilvians.  
  
"Hey ho, everybody knows,  
  
On chitty, chitty, bang, bang we depend,  
  
Bang, bang, chitty, chitty, bang, bang  
  
On you, our pals do depend,  
  
Bang, bang, chitty, chitty, bang, bang,  
  
Chitty, chitty, bang, bang, yeah!"  
  
He rounded a corner and lost sight of the erstwhile pursuers.  
  
The last sound that ensign Kay Tileana and her fellow officers heard of 'Beria', as they lost him, was a cry of . . .  
  
"Everyone in the habitat ring. ONE MORE TIME!  
  
*CHITTY, CHITTY, BANG, BANG!!!*"  
  
  
  
  
  
'Beria' skipped down the corrider and wondered where he should. Maybe he should go to his clone, or maybe go see that loverly changeling man . . . yeah, yeah, that's a good idea!  
  
'Beria' looked at the ceiling and then asked the nice computer if it knew where that lovely man was. It didn't but no matter, he asked where the cute dragon was, the computer very, very nicely told him that she was on the prominade deck. Now if she was there, then that happy, kind gentleman would most certainly be there also. 'Beria' raced off at a heltascalta pace.  
  
  
  
"Alright, draggie, place your bet . . ."  
  
Q cocked a confident eyebrow at her, as he eyed his own hand. They were good cards.  
  
The Dragon frowned at the unwanted nickname but otherwise gave no indication as to the state of her hand.  
  
"Okay . . . I see your . . ." she glaced over Q's shoulder at his first bet, "What did you say your species was again?"  
  
The three stoic males, straight faced but fetchingly dressed in frilly red dresses, answered her in union.  
  
"Vulcan."  
  
Q sniggered, "Geddit? Vulcan-can! They're Vulcans and they're doing the can- can, so they're vulCAN-CANS!!"  
  
She tilted her head at the awful pun, "I see your Vulcan-can, and raise you four Jem'hadar doing the . . ." she closed her eyes as she gleaned the name once more from Bashir's mind, ". . . the Flamingco."  
  
"Oh, ho ho, we think we're good, huh? Well okay, I see your NON-rhyming Flem'hadar and raise you . . ." Q looked around for inspiration, "a Morn singing."  
  
"Fine, I see your guppie with . . . the Doctor!"  
  
Q realised who she was talking about, "Not him, he's incredibly annoying!!"  
  
She gave him a self-indulgent smile, "I know, that's why I choose him."  
  
"Fine! All right, then I raise you a Chuckles!"  
  
"A what?"  
  
"He's big, he's ugly and it looks like someone has drawn all over his face with a biro pen."  
  
The dragon raised an eyebrow, "This I gotta see, I fold."  
  
They simutainlyously brought their wagers into reality, the sound of casonets, and two bass voices sing "*It's Not Unusual to be loved by anyone . . .*" filled the air instantly.  
  
  
  
Moments later, after the Dragon had folded, * I wonder if he's got it together with MY sweet Kathy yet? * he thought to himself, Q reclined and picked up his tall cocktail glass and slurped it noisily. The Dragon put a scaly finger to her lips, "Shhh!"  
  
The Doctor ignored the noise and continued.  
  
"What's New Pussy cat, whoa-oh-whoa-a-whoa-ha!"  
  
"WAIT A MINUTE! WAIT JUST A DOG GONE MINUTE!!" a voice cried from the upper balcony, everybody turned their attention to the source, there stood an incensed Vic Fontaine, "It states quite clearly in MY contract that I am the ONLY hologram allowed to perform on this station!!"  
  
Q clapped his hands at the opportunity to get rid of one of his most annoying pet hates.  
  
  
  
Yet another round yielded another interesting wager, several Borg were transported to the station much to Sisko's irritation, but even he was amused as the drone were made to follow some obscure yet popular dance that, after a series of meaningless moves: everyone of them cried, "Ah! Macareana! Ai!"  
  
Another wager turned up a lot of red shirted ensigns, who Nog vigorously declared were the missing ensigns, no-one had a clue what he was talking about because every one of these ensigns were valued crew members and someone would have noticed their mass disappearence. Their hands on the person in front's hip and bent slightly forward, the ensign made their way around the tables, singing at the top of their voices, " Dar-la-la, la, HEY! la-la, la HEY!".  
  
  
  
The dragon thumbed her cards thoughtfully, slyly eyeing her opponent over the top of her hand.  
  
Needled, Q opened his mouth to say something.  
  
It stayed open in puzzlement.  
  
"Did you invite any of your friends here to watch?", he asked in disgruntled complaint.  
  
The dragon turned and found herself looking into a mirror.  
  
:- //What in the cosmos are you looking at, beanpole?//  
  
The other dragon cleared its throat at the not-really-threatening-but-could- be-if-you're-not-careful challenge.  
  
:// Uh. . . I just wanted to make a business proposal. An alliance, if you will?//  
  
The dragon peered closer at the duplicate.:-// Quark? Is that you?//  
  
By this time, everybody else was looking at the pair in utter confusion. Then realisation dawned.  
  
:- //Oh, you're that wimpy changeling who's been running around the station wreaking havoc!//  
  
:-// Er. . . //  
  
As the fake 'dragon' was surrounded by increasingly hostile-looking starfleet people, he knew he had to make his case quickly. He had hoped this form would make the dragon more amenable to his suggestions - maybe he could hold her hostage as he tried to escape instead . . .  
  
The dragon roared with laughter, which involved many people diving for cover to avoid singed hair.  
  
:-// Hold me hostage? Are you out of your mind? Now go and harass someone else, I've got a card game to finish. //  
  
She turned back to her card game.  
  
The changeling decided to change tactics.  
  
:- //Just a minute-//  
  
Odo sensed the imposter getting uppity again. Luckily the station's entire security force seemed to have congregated here to deal with 'Beria' - or not to deal as the case may be. All Odo could do was watch as 'Beria' got closer to the fake dragon.  
  
In a moment, those who hadn't scrambled out of the way during the dragon's outburst had trained phasers on the fake dragon and the excited Vorta.  
  
:- //Look. Either somebody gets rid of this//- A claw waved at the fake dragon, "//Or I eat him. Okay?//  
  
The fake gulped. Loudly.  
  
"N-n-now, now, there's n-n-n-no n-n-need for petty arg-g-g-uuments, y-you know wh-what we n-need" 'Beria' stutter worserned as his grin split bigger. He breathed in sharply, " A good old fashioned GROUP HUG!!"  
  
"SHUT HIM UP!!!" yelled Q, the dragon, the changeling, and the security officers.  
  
One of the Borg drones stepped forward and stalked 'Beria' menacingly . . . For a brief moment, Sisko tore his eyes away from the game and gazed incredibly at the drone, "Are you going to assimilate him?" he asked hopefully. The drone turned slightly and answered him, "His assimilation would not further the perfection of the Borg, he is unworthy of becoming Borg." This was Borg speak for "No way man, he'll only dumb us down, we leave him with you, SUCKERS!!" and with that he swung his mechanical arm and knocked 'Beria' out. A cheer rose through the ranks. So this left only one distraction, all eyes settled on the counterfeit dragon.  
  
Oh-oh.  
  
He was doomed. He should never have come to the alpha quadrant.  
  
There was only one thing for it.  
  
The fake dragon dove for the real one, the real one turned and immediately began to bludgeon everything within sweeping distance of her tail as she swung round, except for Q who had prudently taken himself out of phase in case of just such an assault, and the two disappeared into a cloud of dust, which the dragon had conjured up for effect. One clawed hand remained out of the melee, still stationary and holding her cards as she beat up the poor unlucky soul.  
  
  
  
The Borg drone 6 of 8 continued to do the macarina. She was stationed at the end of the line of drones similarly engaged in the dance. Then one of her fellows - between chanting 'this is irrelevant' and 'Hey, Macarina! Ai!' acquired an expression of consternation on his face.  
  
6 of 8 sent him a deeply blank expression before slowly swivelling her neck and . . .  
  
Her entire life as ensign Snese Midi Liliwa, and then as the borg drone 6 of 8, flashed before her eyes.  
  
As did the onrushing dragon's tail .  
  
"Uh oh. I'm boned."  
  
6 of 8 managed a total of six seconds of total ironic disinterest as she blacked out.  
  
  
  
The battle came to an abrupt end, with the dragon sitting on top of her dispiritedly coughing opponent.  
  
:-// Erg. . . //  
  
"Oh, grow up and stop this petty squabbling. Until after the game. No more interruptions," said Q. He clicked his fingers and the unfortunate changeling vanished. In its place appeared a large pile of gelatine-based squidgy stuff with little coloured bits in. It looked rather dejected and was smouldering gently. 


	10. Oh Wesley, you came and you gave without...

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
  
  
Part 10: Oh Wesley, you came and you gave without leaving! NOOOOO!!!  
  
"Nice." The Dragon looked at the jell-o with a bemused smile. Q nodded his appreciation,  
  
"Thank-you, now, where were we?"  
  
"I believe we were ready to make our bets."  
  
"Ahh, yes, we were."  
  
This cordial conversation didn't quite fit in with the scene around them, the senior staff of the station, Deep Space Nine, were gathered around a gambling Dragon and Q, beside them was a worm-black-plot-hole-spatial- anomaly-hole-rip-in-space-time-hole-thing, that Nog was avoiding contact with, several Borg drones mumbling repeatedly and following a set of dance moves that looked simple but were pointless, then; after wiggling their behinds, jumping up, clapping their hands and shouted: "Hey! Macarena! Ai!". Behind them, an ever growing conga line of ensigns and civilians romped up and down the promenade, singing at the very top of the voices: "DAR-LA-LA, LA, HEY! LA-LA, LA HEY!"  
  
And that was the start of it on the second floor, Morn had managed to captivate his very own flock of people, to listen to him sing various selections of music, Vic Fontana was accompanying him and keeping a wary eye out for the other singing hologram, next to them the stocking legs of the three Vulcans kicked up in a very impressive display of Vulcan physiology, and the four Flem'hader clapped and clicked in perfect time.  
  
*At least * thought Captain Sisko in relief, * at least, that vorta isn't awake. *  
  
His relief was short-lived as three of his officers disappeared, he quickly reined in his shock and swivelled round to the two responsible for the chaos, "Where have they gone?" he demanded.  
  
"Oh, take a chill pill, Benny!" Q moved another card to make way for the new one.  
  
"Okay, Q, wager."  
  
"I bet." Q's voice took on a distinctly sinister tone, "Three Starfleets performing the 'Dying Swan',"  
  
And with that, the three missing officers reappeared dress in their uniforms but with one *minor* difference. They had the jacket, the pipped collar, the black Starfleet issue boots. and bright pink tutus. Jadzia couldn't help herself, she pointed at her husband's stocky legs and just laughed. Then she caught his gaze and shut up, "I.wasn't." she struggled to maintain her composure, ".*wasn't* .laughing."  
  
Bashir and O'Brien glared at her, Worf grumbled, "A true Klingon warrior *does not* wear pink."  
  
But against their will, all of them threw their hands above their heads and raised themselves on to tiptoes. Lieutenant Commander Worf, son of Morg, Doctor Julian Bashir, genetically modified genius, and Lieutenant Miles O'Brien, chief of station's engineering perfectly piroretted, leaped with perfectly arched limbs and spun with clear alacrity.  
  
The Dragon shook her head and considered her wager.  
  
"Alright, I see your Three Starfleet Bal-lads, and raise you three." Now she took on a sinister tone, ". Broadway dames."  
  
The lights dropped and spotlights raced up the steps, somewhere a big band struck up, three women dressed in diner jackets with long tails and high- heeled shoes and stockings, canes and top hats made their way down the spiral stairwell.  
  
"Oh no!" Q recognised one of them.  
  
"Oh no!" Odo recognised another.  
  
"Oh no!" Dax recognised the last.  
  
"How can you be so cruel?" They asked of the Dragon.  
  
"Because I can."  
  
"But this is cruel, unimaginably cruel. it's . wrong. really, really, *really* mean!" Q insisted.  
  
"Q!" a deep feminine voice called out. He swung his head round. Guinan glowered at him.  
  
"Oh, it's you, sorry, I didn't see you here" he sneered at her.  
  
"Well, now you do, so now you can explain what the hells going on." She sneered back.  
  
"You two know each other?" the Dragon asked sweetly. Q squinted at her in annoyance.  
  
"You know that, 'cos you read my mind and found her." He jerked his head in Guinan's direction.  
  
Guinan cast a questioning glance at the dragon, "Why are you here?"  
  
The Dragon shrugged, "A little miscalculation, and him."  
  
"Well, you can be sure where's there's trouble, there's him."  
  
Q decided to interject, "Excuse me, but we have a game to finish."  
  
*  
  
Meanwhile, Admiral Ross considered his enemy. They had continued to do absolutely zip. Zilch. Nothing. They continued to float dead in space.  
  
It was driving him crazy. What fiendish plans were the Vorta and Jem'hadar concocting in their evil brains?  
  
Could it be some sort of subspace explosive device? An infiltration attempt of Deep Space nine under the cover of this battle? And what was that unfamiliar skin of transparent, iridescent material wobbling around the space station? Perhaps part of the enemy's scheme - and yes, even as he watched, a couple of Jem'hadar ships launched themselves towards it and creaked to a stop . . . and. . . .  
  
TWANG!  
  
As the ships slingshot past his flagship, Admiral Ross gawped. In a refined manner, of course.  
  
It was so simple!  
  
The Jem'hadar were using this. watchmacallit. to slingshot round Deep space nine - in a seemingly aimless manner - whilst in fact they were . . . um . . . . er. . . . All right. So he didn't know. But it was obviously a decoy of some sort. Nothing so silly could be for real.  
  
"Destroy that . . . shield!"  
  
"Uh. Sir?" One of the nameless ensigns stuttered. "The, er, shield appears to, er, be protecting Deep Space Nine from, uh, enemy fire."  
  
"I don't care what it appears to be! Fire!"  
  
Admiral Ross was having a really bad day. The coffee machine had broken. It kept giving him Earl Grey tea. Hot. He wasn't a pansy! He didn't want this poncy, caffeine-free mush! Not after that upstart Picard starting depleting stocks!  
  
And then he'd been sent on this mission, where the enemy refused to fight him and sat there like a . . . like a. . . dead weight in subspace.  
  
He snapped.  
  
"FIRE!"  
  
Q tweaked his ear thoughtfully.  
  
"Oh. . . you people. You want the shield, you don't want the shield, you never make up your minds! I'll have to assume you don't want it. . . ."  
  
"Huh?" Bashir was a little slow to catch on. Sisko wasn't.  
  
"Nooo!" He screamed, "We want, the shield. Ignore them. We want. The shield."  
  
Then the dragon cut in. "This battle is boring. Get rid of them."  
  
A pause.  
  
"Go on. . . oh fine, I'll do it."  
  
Suddenly, there was serene and tranquil peace around Deep space nine.  
  
The Jem'hadar armada had been transported into bottle in Quark's bar  
  
*  
  
Odo had thought he'd seen the last of her, he respected her but she annoyed the hell out of him, and seeing her now brought ripples where his spine would have been, had he a skeleton.  
  
Lwaxanna gave him obvious winks. He knew he was smiling weakly as he waved slowly at her. He looked at the other woman. He didn't recognise her but Jadzia obviously did. As she backed away slightly, she raised her shoulders and groaned. He moved closer to her as his curiosity over took him, Kira followed a similar thought pattern. Before he could open his mouth, Kira beat him to the punch. "Who's that?" she asked in her typical no niceties way.  
  
Jadzia pulled them closer so as to not be heard, "Have you ever heard of Wesley Crusher?"  
  
"That brat from the Enterprise that visited Worf a few years ago?"  
  
"Yep." she looked pointedly at the red headed woman, "*That's* his mother."  
  
"Mother? She is the one who gave birth and inflicted That Brat on the universe?" Kira wondered aloud.  
  
*  
  
In the meantime, Worf, Bashir and O'Brien were wondering their own predicament, "So, how shall we do this?"  
  
"I believe the best course of action would be .bend and stretch, bend and stretch, and flex."  
  
"WORF!!" Bashir and O'Brien cried in union.  
  
"I am sorry. it's just we are damn good at this!"  
  
"Miles." Bashir's voice took on an almost awed tone, "I think I've reached an understanding. a sort of peace with myself."  
  
O'Brien understood what he was saying, it had happened before, the sudden clarity, the peace. "Yes, I feel it too, and it is familiar."  
  
Worf didn't quite understand, "What do you mean?"  
  
Bashir answered, "We came upon this feeling for the first time, during your bachualor 'party', and it goes something like this.*kill Q, KILL Q!*"  
  
O'Brien soon joined in, "Kill Q! Kill Q!  
  
Worf also joined the chant, "Kill Q! KILL Q!"  
  
*  
  
Brunt had been totalling the day's profits, enjoying the sweet sensation of liquidating other, bankrupt people's assets. One moment, in his office on Ferenginar. The next . . .  
  
"I win, you lose, I get liquidator Bru-unt."  
  
"Fine, you can take him. I don't want him anyway. He's boring."  
  
Brunt hadn't the slightest idea of what was going on, but he was ready to hotly defend his reputation as a scheming, conniving little Ferengi, especially since that idiot bartender Quark was in the vicinity.  
  
"Hmm. You're right. Let's make him a little more interesting . . ."  
  
Suddenly Brunt felt an unfamiliar twinge in the back of his lobes.  
  
They began to tingle . . .  
  
He felt the . . . uncontrollable . . . urge to tell Sisko: 'Stop looking for the pot noodles, you fool! They are hidden far beyond your ken, on the deserted mineship Red Dwarf . . .'  
  
All at once he opened his mouth, turned to Worf, still gyrating in a fetching pink tutu, and said:  
  
"Has anyone had the guts to tell you you're really ugly recently? You're really ugly. Seriously. I mean it."  
  
Whilst in mid-pirouette, Worf slowly, ominously acquired an expression not unlike a thunderstorm, and made a sound not unlike a tidal wave breaking on the shore.  
  
All colour mysteriously drained from the liquidator's face.  
  
The dragon turned to Q. "Let us call a finish to this game."  
  
"Agreed but let's make it worth it. If I win. . ." Q paused, and then he dropped the bombshell. "If I win, then the Dominion will win the war of the Alpha Quadrant."  
  
The dragon nodded slowly. "All right. And if I win, the Federation does."  
  
"Why do you want the Federation to win? They're. . . well. . . they have *Starfleet*, for pity's sake!"  
  
The dragon shrugged. "Well yeah. . . but you want them to lose."  
  
They dealt the hand and the bet had already been made.  
  
Q slapped down his hand, and a smug smile passed over his lips. He moved his hand to reveal his cards. . .  
  
Two pair.  
  
A winning hand.  
  
Had he won?  
  
Had Q beaten the dragon?  
  
Had the freedom and the life of the Alpha Quadrant been sacrificed in the face of two pairs of mere cards?  
  
Surely not.  
  
Sisko closed his eyes in anticipation of defeat.  
  
Kira prayed to the prophets.  
  
Odo allowed himself to show his apprehension,  
  
O'Brien thought of his family.  
  
Bashir felt his heart leap into his throat.  
  
Jake placed his hand on Nog's shoulder.  
  
Nog gulped loudly.  
  
Dax thought of her past lives.  
  
Worf wondered if now was a good day to die . . . and if he might kill Brunt first.  
  
Quark considered if the Dominion needed a bartender.  
  
All held their breath - well, everyone except Odo, who just kept his mouth shut - as the dragon leaned over, looked at Q's offering, and looked back at her own hand, and once again, consulted the rules of poker. It happened in slow motion. The cards in her claws touched the table.  
  
Had she the better hand?  
  
Did Q?  
  
Silence befell the universe as she moved her hand. 


	11. Alright, TWO miniscule errors

Duty, Dragons and Dabo.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.  
  
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.  
  
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*  
  
1  
  
2  
  
3 Part 11 : Alright, TWO miniscule errors. . .  
  
. . . Silence befell the universe as the Dragon moved her claws to reveal her hand. A full house. She had a full house. A full house beat a two pair. Q had a two pair but the Dragon had a full house that meant. . .  
  
"I WIN!!" She cried out, "IN YOUR FACE!! I WIN! COS I'M THE BEST! OH YEAH CAN YA FEEL THAT? THAT'S THE BITTER TASTE OF DEFEAT! I AM THE WINNER! YOU ARE THE LOSER!"  
  
The dragon proceeded to prance about the place whilst Q sat shocked. He had been beaten. . . by some giant lizard.  
  
"Dragon. . ." she corrected, "Dra-gon! I don't do that loser part, unlike you, LOSER!!"  
  
She resumed her victory dance.  
  
Meanwhile, the crew found themselves in a suspended state of disbelief, was it true?  
  
Had this mythical creature brought peace to the Alpha Quadrant by merely wining a game?  
  
Many ensigns discovered themselves unable to support their own weight for their legs imitated the Founder in the middle of the bar. Of course, being on the second floor and being mostly extras. . . promptly fell over the rails.  
  
Captain Benjamin Sisko, ignorant of the various thuds behind him, stepped forward, * It was over * was all he could think as he stepped up to the dragon. She grinned with glee and like an idiot, Sisko grinned back. The dragon clicked her claws and a wave of what could only be describe as pure energy flowed from her. It made changes through out the Quadrant.  
  
  
  
Lieutenant Hugh Izzat, of the super secret security Starfleet base at Etamin IV, turned a corner. He was looking for two officers who had failed to appear for duty. He muttered as he turned the corner, not fully seeing the two piles of Jell-o. He slipped and skidded like a ice-skater. When he came to a stop, he noticed two commbagdes. He picked them up and read the names. Commander Chintz and Lieutenant Ralph Noodle. He smiled wickedly, he'd always hated those two, the annoying little creeps, always coming down with some sort of obscure chest infection that cause them to constantly cough during important meetings. Ha! Being turned into large pile of green jell-o complete with fruity bits serve 'em right!  
  
  
  
Where had they gone?  
  
Well, it didn't matter 'cos he was. . . glad? No. Happy? Nuhah. Ecstatic? Absolutely not! Not so much sad as apathy that they were gone.  
  
He turn his head slightly to look at the Jem'hadar that had previously trying to engage him in party games to get him to be enthusiastic about conquering the galaxy. Something about them was wrong, it could have been the fact that they were now about 12" inches high, complete with karate action and little switches on their backs.  
  
He barely had time to recognise this before he began to shrink himself. He noticed a strange feeling, he felt as if he was full of beans. Literally had anyone been watching this occurrence they would have noticed the commander of the Jem'hadar ship was quickly becoming a Vorta Beanie-baby. His last thought was * I hope the same's happening to Him on DS9! *  
  
  
  
Sisko tripped and rolled gracefully over the now beanie-baby overly happy Vorta, previously know as 'Beria'. He didn't admit it, but he was glad that the manic Vorta had been neutralised. He stepped up to the defeated Q. Without some much of a subconscious thought, well, more of a conscious decision. Sisko punched Q.  
  
"You hit me AGAIN! Picard didn't even hit me once!"  
  
Sisko smirked at the annoying being. "Well, here's one from him too!"  
  
TWACK !!!  
  
Q hit the ground hard. "You really outta stop doing that! Do you realise that I can wipe your entire species out of existence in the blink of an eye?"  
  
Everybody looked at him as if he was crazy.  
  
"Well, . . .I can." He whimpered.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Q clicked his fingers and everything returned to relative normality. The Star fleet was transported from their bottle out into to space in time to see the soap bubble disappear from around DS9 with a 'Pop!'. Everything apart from the Jem'hadar, the Founders and the Vorta that is.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Whilst the Congo lines of ensigns and civilians, the 'Flem'hadar' and the Vulcan-can's, the singers and borg sang one last round of 'Hey, Macarena. Ai! Before disappearing. The promenade lost its insanity and the normal hustle and bustle of the station returned, but this left only one small problem. . .  
  
"What are you going to do with the founder?" asked Odo.  
  
The dragon corrected him. "Founder*S* you mean."  
  
"Founders!" he cried "you turned the entire species of founders into Jell-O with fruity bits!"  
  
The dragon nodded her head vigorously. "The Founders, the Vorta, the Jem'hadar. The whole caboodle."  
  
"Well, what are we supposed to do with him?" he indicated to the quivering mass of Jell-O.  
  
Q considered it carefully before saying "Here, take it. Consider it a gift from me to you my rubber faced gimboyed." And was gone before anyone could retort.  
  
A message came through from the bridge. It was the voice of Admiral Ross. "What the FUDGE had been going on! We're getting reports from all over the place concerning strange gelatinous blobs with what appears to be fruity bits in it. AND the Jem'hadar in the POW camps has been turned into action figures with karate chop action. AND the war appears to be over. AND all Cardassians in the fleet have been turned into stuffed toys. So I say again, WHAT THE FUDGE IS GOING ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
Sisko took a deep breath, "I'll get back to you on that. . ." and promptly cut the Admiral off in mid tirade.  
  
Everybody looked at the dragon, which shrugged. "Well how else was the war going to end" she quirked up one side of her mouth. "Ok, Ok, I'll turn them back. Geez!! You guys are gluttons for punishment." She clicked her fingers and the pile of Jell-O on the floor disappeared. "And just because I like you, I returned them ALL home. So there!"  
  
Q returned. "I want to know how you did that!"  
  
"Well I just snapped my fingers and they disappeared."  
  
"No, no, no, no, not that! That transdimensional thingy"  
  
"Mmmmmm," she donned a dragon size star fleet uniform. "I can't tell you that, it's against the prime directive!" she said with a chuckle.  
  
He stomped his foot in annoyance and left.  
  
Kira wandered allowed. "How did the founders know that the dragon was here in the first place?"  
  
The dragon replied offhandedly. "Our dear Doctor told them." The doctor looked shocked.  
  
"What, I didn't tell them anything."  
  
"No, no, no, no, you told them by accident, they intercepted your message to Starfleet Med."  
  
"Whooops" the doctor shrugged sheepishly.  
  
Quark having not said very much decided to make himself heard. "Great, the war's over, the station is back to normal. . .WHAT ABOUT MY DABO TABLE!!" Whilst Odo tried to calm the ferengi down, O'Brien and Bashir tried to discreetly leave the room.  
  
"Gentlemen!" Boomed Sisko. "What are you up to?"  
  
The Irish engineer and the Doctor turned and said "We just thought he needed a taste of his own medicine. It 'twas all in good fun!"  
  
"Why you. . ." Cried Quark. Again Odo had to restrain him as they made a run for it.  
  
The dragon turned to the assembled crew. "Well, I hate to love you and leave you but I'm late for my meeting. This was a nice distraction though. See ya around some time. Bu-buy now" With that she was just. . .gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The Dragon opened her eyes. . .  
  
. . .And didn't find herself at home. Instead, she found herself in a grey; round room with quite a lot of bipeds similar to those she'd just left. The room was darkened slightly and there were several red lights blinking, 'red alert' like on Deep Space Nine.  
  
On the whatsamacallit, the 'main viewer', there were the menacing features of a Borg drone, which stared at the woman addressing him, with an expression that would have rivalled that crazy depressed Vorta. The woman was wearing a uniform similar to the Deep Space Niners, but instead of grey shoulder, coloured collar, they had coloured shoulder, grey collar. From the sound of her voice, the Dragon guess she was the captain, the woman was short and had auburn hair. She stood with her feet apart and her hands firmly glued to her hips. In a tone that said //I haven't had my morning coffee yet so don't get me angry//, she told the drone, "You assimilated him, you can keep the little beggar!! And we hope he poisons you all with his ruddy leola root stew!!".  
  
With a swift nod of her head, the transmission cut. She turned and stopped dead in her tracks. Glaring at the Dragon, she said "What or who the hell are you?".  
  
The Dragon noticed Mr Tattoohead and gave him a grin. "Hiya again!" she enthused. He just shook his head disbelievingly. The Dragon turned to the woman to answer her question, when a flash of light appeared.  
  
The woman and her crew, including Mr Tattoohead, all slap their heads and murmured "Q!" All except a woman whose clothes looked like she was vacuumed- sealed, she just glared at him coldly.  
  
Q ignored them all, and struck an irritated pose.  
  
"Oh! Great! It's not enough you appear in my universe. . . Oh no!" he said, sarcastically. "No! You have to come bug *my* sweet Kathy, Chuckles and their mongrel crew!"  
  
"I make one . . .ney, TWO miniscule errors, and *you* have to come criticise me!"  
  
"Yes, I do, MY universe, ME allowed to criticise!"  
  
She followed her arms, "Really? Well, hands up everybody whose accomplished transdimensional, intergalactic space travel AND can read minds?"  
  
"Oh! Just get out of MY universe, find your own humans to play with!"  
  
She pouted, "You know what? I think I might just stay right here. it's cosy!"  
  
Captain Kathryn Janeway looked on at these two strange beings, unaware of the trouble that they had caused or the trouble they were about to cause. . .  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
THE END (?)  
  
  
  
  
  
DrM: Well? Whatcha think?!  
  
Elvis: why not drop us a review and tell us!  
  
Blue goo: yeh! Please R&R. . . we'd love to hear whatcha got to say about that insanity you just read!  
  
DrM: I don't think it was that weird!  
  
Elvis: trust me, it was. . . 


End file.
